


A Light That Never Goes Out

by Curator_of_Crows



Series: there is a light in your eyes and it never goes out [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Sign Language, Attempt at Humor, British Sign Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Canon-typical Miscommunication, Cyberpunk references, Death of a Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Grief/Mourning, Hard of Hearing Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Mild Gore, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Queer Character, SCP undertones, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Spoilers, Timeline What Timeline, Trauma, but only in the past tense, gratuitous pop culture references, groupchat shenanigans, humor as a coping skill, mention of disordered eating habits, mild body horror, oh no emotions, oh yeah baby you know i'm gonna quote guillermo del toro in this sucker, please look at opening notes for an update on characters, there is going to be a happy ending so help me god, they play Cyberpunk 2020, this starts early season two for timeline purposes, trigger warnings will now be added to the beginning notes of chapters, was this a thinly veiled excuse to keep specific characters alive? yes, working through trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 74,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25494400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator_of_Crows/pseuds/Curator_of_Crows
Summary: He took his glasses off and wiped them off with a piece of fabric pulled from his pocket, “Well, it would appear that there was an incident. A number of their research and archival assistants went missing.”That garnered an immediate reaction from all of us, “What the hell causes ‘a number of research and archival assistants’ to go missing?”This is a sort of AU/Alternate timeline with several original characters.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: there is a light in your eyes and it never goes out [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944421
Kudos: 11





	1. Oh how you need it, oh how you're needed

**Author's Note:**

> God dammit these characters will TALK about their FEELINGS (eventually) and you-know-who stays alive (you know who I'm talking about- I'm not spoiling new listeners in the tags; that's how I got spoiled)
> 
> Also I am indeed painfully aware of the unfinished stories in my WIP folder but in my defense, the Resident Evil fic became an original fic that had to be put on hold because why the fuck were real human beings saying the things my over-the-top evil antagonists say?
> 
> Despite all efforts of canon, these characters will have good things
> 
> CHARACTER UPDATE (4 Sept 2020) : So I'm not going to be including Daisy and Basira in this fic. I've been thinking about it and asking advice and decided that it would be best to not include them because: 1. I am not the person to be making statements with these characters. They are not confirmed WLW and in fact should not be WLW rep because they are cops and I am a bigger fan of WTGFs anyway 2. If (and let's be real, this is a big fuckin IF) there is a chance for these two to be redeemed I am still not the person to be making fic about it. Anyway ACAB, donate to where you can (it's been months, if you've not seen the resources on social media at all then look them up) like your local bail funds, and do what you can. I've not been listening to S5 because 2020 is already the apocalypse, but the most recent ep is rough from what I've heard; this is not the time for white creators like myself and a lot of the fandom to be making sympathetic pieces for these characters. We need to do better and listen to the other creators and research before barreling into our creative works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from momentary bliss by gorillaz

In the interest of transparency, I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t think it would all go up in figurative or literal flames somewhere down the line.

While the majority of the newer materials were delegated to the digital archives sub-department, the original copies or artifacts I worked with on a regular basis were located in the physical archives building along with very old materials.

Because our school was old -as in, older than the country itself- there wasn’t much of an ability to add another wing of the archives building, so any work done for the digital archives occurred on the fourth floor. The nice, modern, air-conditioned, fourth floor of the building. Contrary to popular belief, New England summers got pretty warm. The storage room itself, though stuffy, was also air conditioned, because it would be a pain in everyone’s ass to regularly check to make sure certain materials like books or paintings didn’t melt.

Despite the usual complaints about old buildings and such, it was nice to work in. The electronics worked most of the time, same with the plumbing and doors, and all the predictable culprits of discomfort in the modern era. 

The issue at hand, was more or less that my “office” was not technically up to code and therefore couldn’t receive the creature comfort of central heating and air. I could survive in the summer with open windows and at least three box fans, plus a fourth, smaller fan positioned next to my laptop to prevent overheating. And often I could survive in the winter with a few thick sweaters and a space heater that I wasn’t technically supposed to have. If I set my old laptop on my lap, then I could guarantee that my legs wouldn’t freeze. 

It was nearing the fall, and as much as I love the season, I wasn’t looking forward to answering the numerous questions of the new students. They were usually nice, but those days it felt like I was role-playing a broken record.

My coworker in the physical archives department suggested that I hold a little seminar on the basics of using the resources but that seemed even more frustrating to approach.

“I’m telling you man,” Lizzie paused to slurp up some of the noodles from the to-go cup, “It’ll be easier in the long run if you rip off the bandage now.”

It was lunch time, and three of the four people who I actually enjoyed working with were sitting in the break room to eat.

Lizzie Kent was technically an archival assistant, but she did enough work with me to keep the department running that she should’ve been promoted to something but, alas. Archive work had two types of jobs: the type of job you work as a graduate student or something similarly temporary or the type of job you die in. No, the more full-time positions weren’t inherently dangerous. The nature of the field meant that once you got a full-time position that actually paid most of your bills, you weren’t letting go of it for any reason short of death.

Lizzie was also the kind of person to relish in the exploration of knowledge, whether that meant she would spend nights in the archives, pouring over old books for displays to set up in the library across the street, or she would find some obscure topic otherwise and suddenly become close to an expert on it in a week’s time. Despite her terrible reading habits, often in low light or just doing it too much, she didn’t wear glasses or have any eye related issues. Just about any time I saw her in the archives past hours, she was curled over her desk, reading something with her dark, almost black hair tied back into a sort of loose bun. How she did it without a hair tie eluded me.

Beside her, silently eating a barbecue tofu bun, was Mike Zuraw. Mike was usually silent, so it wasn’t odd that he was silent then. But he nodded when Lizzie made the bandage comment. He was one of the newer additions to the team but had more experience in the field than anyone else in the room. He didn’t talk much about his previous workplace other than the fact that an OSHA representative would have six heart attacks if an inspection were ever conducted- or allowed to be conducted. I wondered if it was a habit from the old place, but he always wore properly, if not almost tightly fitting attire. Nothing that dangled, nothing shiny, like he did everything in his power to not be noticed.

He had the honor to be my roommate for about a week when he first moved to Hyde Park and the pipes burst in his apartment before he could move in. We both got ridiculously drunk playing Mario Kart and the only thing he would say about his previous work was that it was more secretive than black ops. Whether he was telling the truth or not, I wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t talk about it otherwise after that week.

Bringing him onto the team was probably the only decision not made in utter panic for the department. Obviously, a college couldn’t survive without a library and archives, but every passing financial year it seemed like more and more was being pulled out of our funding. As much as my coworkers and I made ragged on Fellows, he did have to make a lot of last-minute decisions that honestly could’ve been worse. But we still reserved the right to bitch about it.

“I mean, yeah, it’s gonna suck. Shit, you could write it out and _I’ll_ do the presentation part. God knows maybe I can use that to convince Fellows to give me some overtime.” An almost-nasal voice piped in from under a desk. Following the voice was a grunt of discomfort and something hitting the desk from underneath.

Finally, a disheveled blonde head popped up from under the cheap, wooden desk. He cursed quietly as he shimmied his way to a standing position. Aidan Greene was another new addition, though for the digital archives. He didn’t have much experience with archival or librarian duties but the head of the information sciences department, Fellows, deemed our situation desperate enough to bring on someone who knew how to ‘do the computer things’ as he so eloquently put it.

Aidan groaned and straightened out his ponytail, “These computers better be worth the work it takes to get them hooked up to this building.” He muttered, though I heard a few more curses but they were quiet. 

“You know, working through lunch probably won’t help you acquire overtime, right?” Lizzie said in between taking a bite of stir-fried broccoli and turning the page of the book in her lap.

“I want to get this done quickly; I was kind of supposed to do this two days ago. Also, I uh,” he paused, scratching the back of his head, “May or may not have forgotten my lunch at home.”

“Oh my god, come here.” I muttered and pulled out a box of egg rolls. “You’re gonna be so cranky later and I will not be in the mood to deal with it if another freshman asks me how to read the Library of Congress between now and then.”

Aidan snorted as he took long strides to grab the box. All of his usual reservations dropped for the moment as he opened it. If the room were quieter, we probably could’ve heard his stomach growling. “Oh, but Cosme, I am a ray of sunshine and you’re oh so generous-” he interrupted himself with a large bite of egg roll.

“Don’t tell the students that, they’ll think they can talk to me.” I grumbled. 

“You say that like you’re a crotchety old man,” Mike raised his eyebrows, “You’ve been out of undergrad what, two years?”

To the best of my ability I tried to not scowl and instead opted to shovel a bit of fried rice into my mouth. Mike was correct, I was only a few years out of my undergraduate degree and managed to land the job of Interim Archivist out of sheer desperation. 

And I didn’t like talking to the students because the last time I tried to relate to people my own age, I had a meme made about me that ran around campus for a few months. Because of the nature of memes, it died down pretty quickly but I also felt like I had to sit in my code violating office for those months. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but as someone who already felt like an alien amongst their peers, it only made the feeling worse. 

There was a comfortable silence for a few minutes as we ate. Rarely that time of year did we ever get peace in the department but when it happened, it was a sort of unspoken rule that we all must take a moment to enjoy it while it lasted. It happened more frequently those days, and I believed it was because of the empty desk in the corner of the main office.

Sometimes I wondered if ‘comfortable’ was still considered good.

A series of soft knocks interrupted it though, and there was a collective breath before the door opened without further invitation.

Fellows was on the shorter side, closer to my height than Mike’s and kept his hair closely shaved. He admitted during the holiday party last winter that he did it because he was self-conscious about his receding hairline. I didn’t understand because even when it would get longer the few days before it would get shaved again, I thought it looked fine. But it was also none of my business.

Fellows cleared his throat, “Sorry everyone, I uh, I have an announcement to make and I figured it would be best to do it now with everyone in the office.”

I frowned, because unless something had changed in the last ten minutes, it was just myself, Mike, Lizzie, and Aidan. We weren’t the only people in the department.

Fellows took a deep breath, “So, we have a sister school in Europe, I’m sure that’s common knowledge to all of you at this point. It’s called The Magnus Institute. They do lean a little more heavily into the uh,” he paused.

At the same time, Lizzie and Aidan responded “Creepy?” and “Spooky” respectively. 

Mike swallowed his food, “Anomalous?” His tone was strained.

Fellows nodded, “Yeah, anomalous is probably the best way to describe it from what I’ve heard.”

“What about them?” I asked.

Fellows took his glasses off and wiped them off with a piece of fabric pulled from his pocket, “Well, it would appear that there was an incident. A number of their research and archival assistants went missing.”

That garnered an immediate reaction from all of us, especially Aidan, who didn’t mince his words. “What the hell causes ‘a number of research and archival assistants’ to go missing?”

Our supervisor gave a nervous chuckle, before ending with a shrug. “I’m not sure, an investigation is still being conducted. Right now, it appears that the institute itself isn’t involved beyond the assistants’ relationships to each other, they went on a trip to the country a month ago and haven’t been heard from since. Search parties brought up nothing, yet.”

I couldn’t lie, that sent a chill up my spine. I’d never met any of the archival team from the institute, but I did speak to someone over the phone once about an old carving dating hundreds of years old from the Sierra Leone region. It was about Anansi the Spider, and after being put on hold by several other museums, we were able to get a picture of the artifact before it was sent to the Sierra Leone National Museum courtesy of a research assistant. What little conversation we had about Anansi quickly devolved to a fact he knew about spiders, as though he wanted nothing more than someone to listen to it.

His name eluded me though I knew he had said it during the phone call, but I hoped he wasn’t one of them.

“Okay,” Lizzie hummed, “So, forgive me if I’m not picking up what you’re putting down, sir, but,” she trailed off. She snapped her fingers, a habit that seemed to help her remember lost words, “What does this have to do with us?”

Fellows pursed his lips, “Well, um,” he huffed a breath, “The president of the college received word from a Mr. Elias Bouchard, asking for assistance. They lost a lot of manpower and need some assistance while they try to recruit and train full-time replacements.”

Mike raised his eyebrows, “You’re joking. It’s been a month and they’re already replacing those assistants?”

Our supervisor shrugged, “I have no idea how they handle these things in London, I’m just a messenger. You five are going.”

“Five?”

I waited for Fellows to elaborate, because if he was going where I thought he was going, I had no idea how to break the news to them.

“I’ve called your previous coworker Ollie to join. They did hang up on me after a few choice words, but I was hoping that Cosme, you could speak with them.”

“I mean, I’ll try, but it can’t come to you as a surprise why they probably used those words.” In the interest of one, workplace etiquette and two, keeping a job to pay my rent, I was careful with my words. Nothing explicitly accusatory, but Fellows wasn’t stupid.

He nodded, “Mr. Bouchard insisted that five would be better, but I’ll let him know that it might not be guaranteed.”

Aidan crossed his arms, still sitting on the desk with the box of egg rolls abandoned to his side. “Forgive me Mr. Fellows but I’m still not sure on the logistics of this. I thought the Magnus Institute had a healthy supply of donors, why would they need replacements or uh, backup so desperately?”

“Again, I don’t know. I’ve talked to Mr. Bouchard twice ever; the president of the college knows him much better than I do. If you’ve got any questions, your best bet is to email him.” I couldn’t read his expression very well. It seemed both irritated and worried, but almost relieved as well. It was no mystery where the worry was coming from- Fellows didn’t like it when plans changed so suddenly, and the plan for the last three months had been to prepare for the coming academic year. Having five of his employees shipped to the other side of the planet was throwing a pretty big fucking wrench into his plans.

“I want to say though,” his posture changed quickly, as if he were sensing the nose diving of morale, “You will still be receiving your paychecks from us. And the Institute has promised to send financial help wherever it’s needed for your efforts. Mr. Bouchard said he understands how this can be disorienting, so they want to help when possible.”

Very unlike how the first silence settled across the room, there was a thick tension in the air. So thick, I thought I would choke. While it couldn’t be called dire straits, most of us weren’t exactly well off to refuse. No one goes into the field for the money.

Aidan’s clapping exploded through the painfully awkward silence, and the look on his face was one of grim acceptance. “Well, I am drowning in student loan debt. I don’t see how this could at all even possibly blow up in our faces.”

Mike was only in his late thirties, yet he looked like the last half hour aged him another decade as he wiped his hand down his face. He straightened out his glasses and waved his hand in dejected agreement.

Lizzie and I exchanged a glance before giving similarly unenthusiastic responses.

Fellows nodded, “Right, well,” another pause. “They’re hoping for you to arrive by next Monday. Their estimation is that it’ll take about a month, or a month and a half at the absolute longest.”

As the collective complaints and groans filled the office, quickly overtaking the quiet man’s assurances that he was merely a messenger, I felt something in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t like to travel much; the ‘being somewhere else’ part was fine, but the actual process of arriving usually filled me with horrid anxiety, it would sour my stomach.

What I felt in that moment was something different, and I wished that I were brave enough to insist that I couldn’t go, or to have at least feigned terminal illness the night before the journey.

“ _God! It wasn’t even a full week_!” I heard Lizzie complain from her side of the apartment.

She had every right to be pissed as she flung something into her suitcase. I couldn’t tell what, but I did know it was thrown in anger as something thudded against the leak-proof material.

I stared at the layout before me, unsure of how to arrange my suitcase in accordance with the rest of my necessities. I really didn’t want to pay for an extra bag at the airport but facing the possibility of leaving a few books behind seemed worse.

The rest of the week was stressful, and that was the easiest way to put it. The entirety of our department was quick to pick up on it, and it took everything in my power to not snap at a coworker who insisted on telling us how jealous she was.

Sure, going to Europe would be great. If we had more than half a week to settle our affairs and it was an actual vacation, and not for, you know, work.

I settled on leaving behind two horror novels, so I had room for my laptop and its charger.

“I’m just glad your mom was able to take in the Captain.” I shouted back to her.

The Captain was a small black cat who we believed to have been the smallest of his litter, whose full legal name was Captain Crunk, Destroyer of Bookshelves and Kibble. Though Lizzie and I had lived together since the start of the summer after she had a rough breakup, the Captain had taken quite a liking to me. And my shoes. And my books. Particularly chewing on the latter two. Despite his sweet, cuddly appearance, the Captain had a fitting meow for his name. The furball sounded like he’d smoked two packs of cigarettes a day for the last twenty years. He got the name because we’d found him in a cereal box, huddled next to an empty beer can. He then got the title about a week later when he managed to, and I could not stress this enough, _somehow_ topple Lizzie’s entire bookshelf, which then ripped into his bag of kitten food which he then proceeded to eat an absurd amount of. So much that Lizzie worried he would be hurt, but the vet insisted that he was fine, just very full of kibble and poop.

I heard a heavy sigh, but I couldn’t be sure if it were a sigh or another groan. I withheld my comment about the dramatics, as the first and only time I told Lizzie that she was being a little over the top, she loudly proclaimed that it was her God-given bisexual right to be dramatic.

“I’m gonna miss him,” I heard her say, closer this time.

I turned around and Lizzie was leaning her full weight into the frame of the door, solemnly staring at the dingy, creaky hardwood floor. Her lips were pulled into a frown in a manner that, if you didn’t know her, you’d think was fake. I liked that about Lizzie. I didn’t have to guess what she was feeling; it was clearly presented on her face.

I sat on the edge of the bed, so used to its age that I didn’t flinch when it shrieked under my weight. “You know, you could ask your Mom to send pictures. I don’t know what the phone situation will be like, but social media is still a thing.”

She sighed softly, “You’re right. I just wanted to complain a bit.”

“That’s fair. This does suck, a lot.” I said.

Lizzie looked up from the floor, her expression changing. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Me?”

“Yeah you, I saw the look on your face when you got the email with the plane ticket. You gonna be alright?”

That was another thing I liked about living with Lizzie. She knew how to pull things out of you, but without making you feel like you’re spilling your guts. We’d known each other for some time by that point, so it didn’t take much to get me to talk anyway.

I shrugged, because I didn’t think that far ahead. “I have a playlist on my phone and very good headphones.”

“You’re gonna shit your pants if there’s any turbulence?”

I raised my eyebrows at her, and she covered her mouth to stifle any giggles or smiles that threatened to leak out.

“Any word from Ollie?” She asked, effectively changing the subject.

“You know, when I went to visit them, I thought I had gotten a confirmation out of them but now I’m not so sure,” I hummed.

Ollie lived in a trailer. No, not like a trailer where normal people live, I’m talking about a cargo trailer that trucks pull around. Sure, there’d been a trend of people interested in living ‘off the grid’ and people who were interested in doomsday prepping- er, whatever doomsday they had in mind, but Ollie and their father were the weird type. Definitely the kind of people who were into doomsday prepping, I want to make that clear, but a very strange kind of apocalypse that I’d never heard of in any archaeological, anthropological, modern theological capacity. Any time I’d try to ask Ollie about it, they seemed just as confused as I was.

Their dad also claimed that he killed a vampire once, but I didn’t really want to consider the implications of that claim whether it was true or not.

For some reason, knocking on the door felt off and like I was invading something.

“- _you can’t just assume that, Dad!_ ”

I frowned. I frowned because I wasn’t sure of what I heard through the metal. I thought I heard them say something to their father, but that couldn’t be right. Ollie’s father was dead, had been since the spring.

I cleared my throat and knocked, despite every anxious bone in my body telling me not to.

“ _-y God, dude, we will talk about this later._ ”

The sound of metal screeching, followed by a loud clanking noise echoed around me, well past the trees. I jolted as the metal door swung forward, nearly clipping me as it slammed against the metal frame.

Ollie Evans was much taller than me, with the lanky figure to match, but their stature didn’t fool me. I’d seen them hurl a man over a bar table once for asking them some kind of question I couldn’t hear, but they didn’t like it or him.

Their hair had once been in a sort of undercut style, the top part bleached and dyed bubblegum pink in our university days, while the bottom half remained their natural dark blonde. As I looked at them, I could tell that the pink had faded, and the under part of the undercut had grown. Before their mother died, Ollie lived down the street from me when we were kids. We bonded because we were the only kids in our third-grade class who didn’t have any siblings. Silly, but it started a friendship that lasted, no matter how cheesy it sounded. Back then, Ollie was generally pale. But after the funeral, when their dad sold the house and moved further and further away from suburbia, they gained a bit of a freckled tan from gardening, hiking, hunting, just about any outside activity.

After Ollie and their dad moved, I wasn’t allowed to visit anymore.

In the few seconds it took to register who I was, their face erupted into a huge grin.

“Oh my god, Cosme, I had no idea you were coming to visit!” They pulled me into a tight embrace. Contrary to what they said, it felt like they had been waiting for me.

I couldn’t help the smile on my face though and hugged them back. “It’s good to see you.” How natural it felt, to come back to that.

They pulled away, the grin not leaving their face. “Come on in- and I promise you, this time it’s air-conditioned.”

As I entered, the space was set up differently than I remembered. The one time I visited after turning eighteen, Ollie had me spend the night while their dad went hunting further North. There used to be two beds, a radio, and a bunch of shelves with boxes of indeterminable origin. Not much else, but there was then only one bed. The other was turned into a couch, like a futon. A few of the shelves were emptied of boxes and instead replaced with various oddities or rocks I imagined they picked up from the nearby trails.

They were talking about something excitedly, but I had a hard time keeping up. I picked up a few key words along the monologue; something near a lake, the garden plots outside, and more. It had been a while since I heard them talk in such an animated way- they could’ve been talking about filing taxes and I would’ve been happy to hear their voice.

Abruptly, they turned to me, “So what about you, Cosme? What have you been up to all this time?”

I opened my mouth to start but felt my voice leaving. My eyes fell to a shelf with one thing on it; a simple curtain attached to the metal lip that jutted out from the shelve above was pushed aside to reveal the only occupant. Ollie was interested in lots of weird things and that was seldom an issue, but a human skull encased in a sparkly resin type of material wasn’t exactly in the ‘normal’ circle of weird. The resin encasement wasn’t exactly circular, but almost looked like the mold used for it was a giant twenty-sided die with soft edges.

Ollie turned to see what I was gaping at and they gave me a lopsided grin that could’ve been mistaken for a cringe, “Sorry ‘bout that,” they pulled the curtains shut. “Dad, uh, had some strangely specific requests about his body.”

My shocked expression, to their own surprise, did not go away as they said that. “I’m, I’m sorry, _that’s your dad’s skull_?”

Scrunching their nose, they nodded, “Yeah, that’s old man Pete Evans.”

I nodded slowly, “Cool.”

“Anyway, um,” their voice softened. I wanted to apologize, because I recognized that tone. Shame, embarrassment. The kind of tone they used when they had the feeling that someone didn’t care about what they were saying. But they continued talking albeit with less enthusiasm. “I love your company, but I know this _is_ a little out of the way for you, what brings you here?”

I began to explain Fellows’s offer in detail, quickly trying to pacify their immediate rejection.

The previous academic year, a few weeks before Ollie’s dad died, they had to ask for reduced hours since they needed to stay home to take care of him. Mr. Evans didn’t have health insurance and he was afraid of hospitals, so when the lung cancer diagnosis came, it essentially signed the death certificate then and there. Fellows allowed it somewhat, but was pretty snippy about it, which at first wasn’t a problem. Ollie didn’t care that he was annoyed, they had a sick parent to take care of. And then when their dad finally died, they needed to request some time off to grieve. Well, Fellows didn’t take it very well because two assistants moved on to different graduate programs. Ollie quit on the spot and though I wasn’t present to hear it myself, I later heard that they shouted, ‘Get bent, you bureaucratic ass wipe’. 

“Okay, well, think of it as not something for Fellows, then.” I suggested.

We had moved onto the futon, Ollie drinking some kind of tea made with herbs from their garden. I tried to ignore the feeling of being watched, particularly by the skull of Mr. Evans, despite the very clear lack of eyes in the resin. They frowned at me, “What am I supposed to think of it as?”

“I dunno, a chance to go overseas. Come on, it’s the _Magnus Institute_ , you would’ve killed for an opportunity like this back in school.”

They let out a soft sigh, “I know. But, I’m not even an official employee of our school. Can’t your supervisor send someone else?”

Their refusal to say his name did not slip past me, which was fair enough. “You were really good at your job. You’re way smarter than they give you credit for- Christ, more than you give yourself credit for. And I’m not gonna lie, I do have a bit of a selfish reason for asking.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“I miss you.” I said honestly. “The others are cool and all, but you’ve been my best friend since we sat on the playground pretending the seesaw was a pirate ship. If there’s anyone I’d want to be a colleague for this, it’s you.”

Emotional vulnerability wasn’t something I excelled at, but honesty was. I cared about Ollie. They fell off the face of the planet when their dad died, and though they were generally a rational person, I was afraid that one day they wouldn’t respond to a check-in text. I also wasn’t an idiot; I wasn’t as emotionally responsive as I could’ve been when they needed it most. 

But that was then.

They set their tea down on the makeshift coffee table in front of us and shifted into a cross-legged position. The expression on their face was soft, solemn, but thoughtful.

“Give me a moment to think about it?”


	2. a little truth in a world full of pretty lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First days at work are usually easy, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey quick warning, this chapter mentions throwing up in the end though not explicitly. Also, Cosme's nebulous hearing issues and their experiences with sign language mirror my own.  
> chapter title from the song lost by the goo goo dolls

“You okay, dude?” Ollie asked from the seat next to me.

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat and took a breath, but I was afraid to speak lest the shitty pretzel I ate back in the United States would make a guest appearance.

Instead, I nodded and shakily allowed the breath I held to pass my lips.

God, how I hated flying.

Ollie held my hand as the plane jerked during the landing process, not saying anything since they sensed my hurt feelings when they laughed during my takeoff reaction. The plane made a sound and jolted in a way I did not like, so the joking smile I was wearing had quickly fallen into an expression of utter terror.

Once on stable ground though, I felt my entire body relax, like the tension left behind nothing but a sagging human being.

While I had no appetite to speak of, I was grateful nonetheless when everyone suggested taking a moment to grab something to eat. It turned out that our school was in charge of the plane tickets since the Institute would cover living expenses. At first that sounded great, but a long flight in a cramped cabin didn’t make for the best eating environment. But I didn’t complain though, because at least we wouldn’t get into another vehicle until my stomach had settled better.

The share house we were to be living in for about a month was about a fifteen-minute train ride from the institute. There were three bedrooms and two bathrooms, which was baffling to me because during my HGTV phase as a teenager, I’d always thought these kinds of spaces just didn’t exist in the city. Then I didn’t want to think about how much it cost since clearly, they did exist, I just hoped it wouldn’t be taken out of my paycheck from my actual employer.

It was Saturday, or rather, probably Sunday once I collapsed onto the bed. It was Ollie’s laughter that woke me up, which came to me as a surprise as I didn’t realize I had already fallen asleep.

They were already changed into their bed attire; the classic oversized t-shirt and boxers look. It took a moment to recognize the shirt, but it was an old magical girl anime design when I looked closely. I wondered if they still paired it with their Deadpool boxers.

They gave a sheepish grin, “Sorry, dude. Didn’t think I’d wake you.”

“No, no, I should probably change,” I mumbled, though I was unsure if it sounded like English as I rolled off the bed.

Ollie hummed an affirmative noise anyway and when I moved my duffel bag, they grabbed the duvet and shook it like they were expecting it to be dusty.

I stumbled over myself as I pulled down my jeans, but regained composure before my ego was too hurt. My pajamas were similar to Ollie’s with gym shorts that were honestly probably too short and too tattered but the day I threw away an article of clothing that could still technically be worn would be my date of death. The t-shirt I pulled over my body was just about as hole-y and faded as Ollie’s, only instead of a magical girl my shirt had the logo of a fictional company from an eighties science fiction, alien horror film. 

“Hey, Cosme?” 

I turned around, trying to push down the yawn that threatened to leak out, “Sup?” I yawned anyway.

“Can you help me stretch?”

It took me a second to understand what they meant, but it occurred to me that they no longer looked flat-chested. “Yeah, c’mere.” I mumbled.

Ollie linked their hands together behind their back, and I slowly brought their clasped hands up, hopefully stretching their pectoral muscles. “I should’ve thought before binding today, I don’t know why I didn’t think it would be a long flight.” Their voice tensed, but not in pain.

“Does your chest hurt right now?” I asked.

“Nah, not really, but I might be sore tomorrow.” Ollie coughed, trying to loosen up anything that could be stuck in their airways.

“I think it’s gonna be cooler tomorrow,” I said, letting their hands come down gently before Ollie was back to standing in a relaxed position. “You could wear a sports bra and a loose sweater.” 

“Yeah, that’s a good call.” Ollie paused when their eyes fell to the only bed in the room. Aidan and Mike took the bedroom with separate twin beds, and Lizzie ended up with the only single room because she was such a light sleeper. “ _ And there was only one bed _ ,” Ollie said in a ridiculous, more silly than suave tone of voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” I snorted, “Be glad it’s not a full mattress, because I like to starfish.” Was it the full mattresses that were smaller than queens? Or were they bigger? 

Ollie giggled, trying to stay quiet since our housemates were certainly asleep by then. “Oh boy, one month of being roommates again.”

“ _ Oh my god, they were roommates- _ ” I caught myself cackling before a pillow was tossed into my face. The tired giggles were beginning to catch up with me.

“Stop that,” I could hear their grin, “Go to sleep.”

I threw the pillow back onto the bed and hooked my phone up to the charger. I had numerous alarms set for the morning, because if college taught me anything it was that I could sleep through more alarms than I thought. 

While snuggled under the covers, I tried to mumble something like a goodnight, but I fell asleep before Ollie even turned off the light on their side of the bed.

“ - _ could do  _ _ so much better  _ _ than this, emoti _ _ onally in fences and momentary bliss. We could do so much better than this, oh Rita, oh Rita-” _

I shot upward in the bed, recognizing the song as an alarm and not just a fun song I was hearing in a dream. Ollie was not in bed, but I could hear the sink running in the connected bathroom.

“ _ Your potential, you lack credentials. And you are special, so fucking special. Oh, how you need it, oh how you’re needed. And you keep squeezing the truth from the middle,” _

I smacked my hand around, trying to locate my phone and turn off the alarm until finally, my fingers brushed against the screen. It was good enough to turn off the alarm, but I also ended up smacking the phone off the bed and onto the cold, cold floor.

“Fuck,” I grumbled, leaning over the edge of the bed to pick up the very expensive piece of technology I prayed didn’t have a cracked screen.

It was seven in the morning. A little later than I had intended on waking up, but also  _ Momentary Bliss _ was not the sound of my final, more urgent alarm that would go off in half an hour. 

I rubbed my eyes and took a moment to remember that I was across the planet. Delightful.

Though, once I was a little more awake than I was the previous night, I found that I did like the room we were staying in. It was older but had some new bits of furniture like a wardrobe and a desk. The bed was definitely newer than mine at home, or just in better condition. The window above the bed was long, spanning from one end of the wall to the other, vertically short and allowed for a lot of natural light.

I pushed the sheets off of me and padded to my duffel bag that I should’ve unpacked before going to bed. I remembered being told that business attire was encouraged, but officially the dress code was a little more on the casual side. I settled for black pants and a maroon sweater; sweaters didn’t wrinkle if left in a duffel bag overnight.

I pursed my lips, trying to think if Doc Martens were considered professional attire when Ollie poked their head out from the bathroom.

“Oh good, you’re up!”

I made a grunting sound, because it was too early to be cheerful about anything.

“Hey, wanna see a cute video of a cat?”

Okay, maybe not  _ anything _ .

One cute cat video later, I decided that docs were acceptable since I kept them clean-ish. I did my bathroom business, including brushing my teeth and taking my normal, morning medications. By the time I walked back into the bedroom, Ollie was fully dressed in jeans and a half tucked in button down shirt. I frowned, “I didn’t know we could wear jeans,” I said.

“Technically not supposed to, but they’ve got me in artifact storage so I won’t be in sight of anyone who would care enough. Besides, I have this,” they held up a brown, thick-knitted cardigan. “Everything looks professional with a cardigan.” They grinned.

I shook my head, afraid that if they saw my own grin it would encourage their antics, but it was a fruitless effort. I checked the time. If we needed to get to the institute at eight, then we needed to be on a train by a quarter ‘til, but also I preferred to be early at least by a few minutes, so I had time to settle in, so then breakfast was-

“Hey, I hear your brain from over here.” Ollie patted my head, “Careful there, we’ll need a fan attached to your backpack, so you don’t overheat.”

“Oops,” I mumbled, picking up said bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “Sorry, got lost thinking about how to do the morning commute.”

“We’ll figure it out. I’ve got protein bars in my bag if your stomach is bothering you too much for a full breakfast.” 

They handed one to me before opening one for themself, “Don’t worry, it’s not s’mores flavor.”

Moving to Boston for school was a bit of a nightmare for someone coming from a less populated area, especially when it came to navigating public transit. Boston definitely had better public transportation than other places in the United States, but still different from London. If not for the help of navigation apps, I was certain we would not have known what stop to get off at.

Granted, we still ended up distracted, because Ollie wanted to take their time as we walked. I knew there was no reason to be worried about punctuality, we caught the train with Mike and Lizzie since Aidan had different hours than us. I was too used to hauling ass when walking; not taking enough time to acknowledge the world around me.

Ahead of Ollie and I, was Lizzie, scrolling through her phone looking for a specific email send by Elias as Mike let us know what streets to turn on.

“Dammit, Google sent it to my spam folder,” she muttered, “Okay, so he wants us to meet in the employee lounge at eight and we should get an orientation during that meeting.”

“Fellows said that our jobs would be a little different from the rest of the staff’s, so we probably won’t be able to count on the other assistants to help us out- oh, um,” Mike paused, looking at his phone like an older person. “Left here, then it should be straight ahead.”

We turned and there it was down the street. The outward appearance fit my expectations for an institute that studied odd things like the supernatural. I winced as a car drove by, the tones of the engine and the wind whipping around it managed to translate into a sensation not unlike my brain being slapped with sandpaper.

I rubbed my temples, hoping to un-prickle myself before going in for what was close enough to a first day at work. Having to wear sunglasses on what looked to be an overcast day was already a pain since most assumed it to be a sign of a hangover. 

Ollie nudged my elbow, signing “O K?” after pointing at me. 

I nodded, making the sign for “loud” as I covered my ears for a few seconds. The initial discomfort already happened, but covering my ears felt like cradling a hurt hand. It didn’t always do much, but it was a comfort, and at least prevented any other trigger sounds from piling on top of it.

I got a sympathetic look from them, and soon we were standing before the large, imposing institute in all of its over-the-top architecture. The name of the style evaded me, because it looked like any other old building I’d seen pictures of in Europe. I wondered if Lizzie would know if I asked.

The inside was as I expected. It was well-maintained, but kind of dated in an oddly charming way. The furniture was probably older than I was, or at least, the designs were. A few people walked past, but they looked to not be employees but students or other visitors. There was a reception desk, and Lizzie was speaking to the lady sitting down. I brought my hands down, having forgotten then I was still covering my ears, and was greeted with a new sound. It was almost like a low vibration, so soft that I didn’t believe my coworkers to have heard it -they didn’t- and like electrical work. Fluorescent lighting was something I had dealt with in the states, but this felt like more, so I made a mental note to speak to whoever my supervisor was about wearing headphones during work.

The orientation was quick, much to my surprise, but we also were essentially doing legwork instead of the usual archival work for the institute. I didn’t quite understand, because the work shouldn’t be too much different between schools. That thought was quickly usurped by the work itself though, because whoever was in charge of the filing system before was god awful at it.

During the meeting, Elias split us up between different remaining employees. Ollie and Lizzie went to the basement with a woman whose name I couldn’t quite hear, to storage. Mike and I would work with the other two assistants, Martin and Tim. When Aidan would come in later, he wouldn’t technically be shadowing anyone specifically, but he had an assignment lined up.

The Head Archivist, whose name I later learned to be Jon, stayed in his office. A lot. The only time I caught a glimpse of him was when I had to deliver a statement to him at Elias’s request. I got a very curt ‘thank you’ and nothing else before he closed the door. I wanted to ask Martin or Tim if I accidentally offended him somehow but thought better of it since Martin looked just about as anxious as myself, and Tim looked like he wanted to spit on the floor when the man was mentioned earlier.

Instead, I quietly vented about it to Mike next to the printers while we waited for the files requested from the police department. Why we requested files from the police department, I had no idea and neither did Mike. He looked tired, a little annoyed, but not as distressed as I did.

“Did you do much research on this place before accepting the offer?” He asked, keeping his voice down.

I paused, “I mean, it’s a school. How could it be that much different than Winchester?”

Mike snorted, “Oh my god, Cosme. When Fellows said that they studied anomalous phenomena, he wasn’t joking.”

“What kind of anomalous phenomena?” I blurted.

He shifted, almost as though my question made him uncomfortable. He casually looked to the rest of the room, satisfied that it was empty for the moment. “This place studies the unexplainable. At least, what I think is unexplainable to  _ us _ .” 

I could tell by his tone that he was completely serious. Mike wasn’t much of a jokester; sure sometimes he’d make a wisecrack, but practical jokes were not his thing.

“The place I worked at, before Winchester, was something like this.”

“Except not blacker than black-ops?” I added.

He nodded, “It’s hard to explain, but the statements being recorded are of strange phenomena experienced by everyday people. They come in to tell their story and I guess we’re supposed to do follow up, which can involve police reports or other forms of fact checking.”

I hummed quietly. That did make sense. Mike’s posture remained stiff, rigid as though he thought he was being watched. “So if you don’t mind my asking, how is this different from, well, that?” I hoped my gesturing made it evident that I was talking about the difference between the institute and wherever Mike worked before.

He ran a hand through his short dark hair, “I’m not entirely sure. It looks like this place is more academic than,” he paused, “Than uh, there.”

I nodded slowly before taking a moment to think, “Hey, Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“You look like you’re gonna pass out, do you want to change the subject?”

“God, yes, please.”

The day was surprisingly uneventful. Well, as uneventful a day could be when your job was to wade through files and statements about truly terrible things. I’d worked with a fair amount of odd and disconcerting material in the past; everything from grisly unsolved murders to alleged first-hand accounts of demonic possession and then exorcism. With little warning though, things took a turn for the worse. 

I never in my life wanted to know about a thing called Jane Prentiss.

It happened while I was sitting at my desk after lunch. Tim had been doing his best to avoid us outside of any absolutely necessary interaction, and Martin was falling behind on the statements he needed to read through. At least, that’s what my assumption was; the expression on his face reminded me of one I would make if I found myself at the end of the semester. Burned out, trying desperately to keep up with the onslaught of deadlines. I had finished my last assignment for the day, which consisted of going through old statements to verify if any follow up had occurred. Some of them dated back before most of us were born, so I couldn’t do much there other than ask for old files and records. Others were completed more recently, even recorded to audio by Jon. It confused me, because I thought they’d already been worked on, but Elias knew better than we did about what work needed to be done so I thought nothing of it.

I hadn’t expected to finish so early and was about to ask one of the others if there was anything else I could help with when I came back from filling up my water bottle. But, I noticed that a folded envelope was sitting on my desk.

I asked if either Martin or Tim left it there, and Mike wasn’t present because he was taking a late lunch.

“Oh, um,” Martin made a thoughtful expression, Tim had already buried himself back into his work. “One of your colleagues left it. Sh-They said they were told to give it to you.”

I shrugged, “Okay, thank you.”

He gave a small smile and went back to what he was doing prior to the interruption.

I sat down and opened the envelope. Inside was a tape- a very recent one, dated within the previous couple of months, and attached to it was a sticky note. 

‘ _ WE NEED TO TALK – 1330 HOURS _ ’

I recognized it as Ollie’s handwriting and set the sticky note aside. We all had tape recorders on our desks, so I plugged in my headphones, and looked at the tape. The time stamp read that it was just under half an hour long. I gazed at the clock in the room; it was a few minutes passed one. It was settled then, so I pushed the tape into the player and listened.

A cold sweat formed on the back of my neck, and I realized that my hands had been gripping my pants with such force that my knuckles turned stark white. I wanted to say something, though I didn’t know what, but I was legitimately worried that I would scream or throw up if I opened my mouth.

There was no way that was real. It couldn’t have been. I refused to believe it, I just  _ couldn’t _ -

I stood from my desk, knocking the chair back as though the furniture had been  _ infested _ . I didn’t even hear Martin or Tim jump in their seats as I ran out of the office and across the hall to the bathrooms.

I pushed the door open, ignoring what sounded like Ollie’s voice in the hall. 

For my own sake, it would be best to explain that I am somewhat emetophobic and did not have a good time in that bathroom. Though, Ollie’s calm voice as they held my hair and patted my back was enough to not crumple into full-blown panic.

“Shit, dude, I wouldn’t have made you listen to it if I’d known-” they started. I shook my head, confident that I was finished.

I flushed the toilet and accepted the wet paper towel they handed over. “It’s fine,” I winced at how hoarse my voice was. I wiped away everything that felt sick, wishing to wipe away the memory of the recording and my reaction. The muscles in my throat hurt so much. I took a few deep breaths, “What the fuck, what the  _ fuck _ ?” I covered my mouth, almost worried that maybe I wasn’t done.

“That tape was shoved away in artifact storage. It was labeled and everything, so I don’t think it was misplaced.” Ollie said, wearing a worried expression. “I listened to some of it on my little player while sorting through junk,” they motioned to the contraption clipped to their pocket.

“You think someone hid it?”

They shrugged, “I don’t know. But it sounds like whatever investigation was conducted was put under wraps. I’m, uh,” they paused, like they weren’t sure how to say something.

“What?” I prodded.

“I’m beginning to wonder if what we were told about the other assistants was the truth,” they said.

That wasn’t a fun thought to mull over, but I didn’t have time to consider it because someone knocked on the bathroom door quietly. Ollie left the stall, where I was still sitting on the ground and opened the door slightly.

The angle wasn’t great though, because Martin and Tim ended up seeing me anyway. “Are you okay?” Martin asked.

“I feel like ass.” I had no desire to be polite about it.

Ollie turned to them, “Stomach issues, nothing to be worried about.” They lied, using a tone that said, ‘Please leave’.

Tim had a look on his face that seemed unamused though, and held up the tape that had been on my desk, “Where did you get this?”

Ollie gave me the side eye, “You left it on your desk?”

I flipped the bird, “I was a little preoccupied.”

Ollie sighed and turned back to them, “Can you give us a minute to clean up? Then we can talk.”

Once the door was closed, Ollie helped me up to my feet and to the sinks. It took some time before I could feel somewhat clean, but the feeling would stick with me until I got home. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and Martin was handing Ollie an unopened toothbrush and a travel size tube of toothpaste. I had never been so grateful for dental hygiene products, almost not hearing Ollie ask how he got them.

“It’ll um, it’ll make sense when we talk,” was all he said. Whatever. I wasn’t going to complain.

When I did feel significantly more human than the moments before, we finally emerged from the bathroom. Tim and Martin were facing the opposite wall, speaking in hushed tones. The more-than-gentle hum of the fluorescent lights above ensured I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I cleared my throat, both to announce our presence and because it was still sore.

They turned to face us, Tim looking, well, something. I couldn’t read his expression, but my first guess was suspicion. Martin had something similar, though was more explicitly worried.

“Better?” Tim asked.

I nodded, rubbing my forehead. “So um, I guess my first question is-” my voice faltered but I forced it out anyway. “What the fuck?” I gestured with my hands.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that,” he said dryly. Up close, I could see the small marks on his skin, marring the golden-brown tone with scar tissue a few shades lighter. I locked my muscles, trying to hide the fearful shudder that ran through me.

Thankfully, Ollie decided to speak up. “We were told that the assistants disappeared on a trip to the countryside.”

Tim chuckled, but there was no humor in it. It was disbelief, he looked at the ceiling, “Fucking figures.”

Martin sighed, “I’m sure we don’t have to tell you that what you heard is what really happened.”

I nodded, but Ollie didn’t seem satisfied by that.

“I don’t understand, why the cover up? Wouldn’t it make more sense to tell the truth? Even a modified version of it?”

Tim leaned against the wall, his frown softening but not leaving entirely. “Elias has friends in high places. Silence has a price, and I bet his little friends were able to buy it. I have no clue why you people were brought in if there’s any excuse other than a lack of employees.”

That didn’t make me feel good. Whatsoever. If the conditions at the institute were so deplorable, then why bother bringing outsiders? It would’ve made more sense to temporarily close the institute and make the necessary changes with the money, instead of throwing it at people to buy their silence.

“Besides, you heard the tape. Those  _ things _ weren’t quite like normal bugs or worms.” Martin said quietly as Tim shoved his hands into his pockets. “They isolated me in my apartment before it happened here. That’s why I had the toothbrush and stuff, because I had to live here for a short while.”

Tim clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Which reminds me,” he looked between Ollie and I, “How did you two end up with the tape? We haven’t been able to find it since a few days after it was compiled.”

Ollie shifted their weight from one foot to the other, “It was behind some boxes, in artifact storage.”

Martin groaned, “God, was it  _ misfiled _ ?”

They shook their head, “No, I think it was hidden. I found it shoved behind a lot of big, heavy boxes on a tall shelf. Nearly fell off the ladder trying to get to it.”

We hadn’t gotten that far in our discussion, and the new information hit me like a brick. That didn’t sound like something that was misplaced. “But that doesn’t make sense,” I wrinkled my nose.

“Hate to break it to you, but a lot of things don’t make sense here,” Martin ran a hand through his ginger hair.

“No, I mean,” I swore and tapped the side of my leg, trying to force the words out fast enough but they were jumbling in my brain like train compartments trying to push a frozen engine car forward. I looked at Ollie and signed ‘Why buy,’ but couldn’t remember the sign for ‘silent’ or ‘silence’. I improvised by holding a finger to my lips.

“Why buy the silence? I guess that’s a good point,” their mouth twisted into a sort of half-frown.

“Thank you, yeah. Why bother with the hiding and shit if Elias or whoever already swept it under the rug?”

None of us had much of an answer for that, least of all me. Martin looked at his watch then, “Look, it’s already two. I’m sure standing out here in the hallway isn’t going to get us any further. We could meet up after work to discuss it, and maybe S̸̛̘͓̠͆̚á̷͕̦͂̏͐s̵̳͐h̸̨̯̄͘͠͠ã̸̡͈̐̏͜͜ might know something.”

Tim looked uncomfortable with the idea, but it was fleeting and that wasn’t my focus anyway.

“You’re right, S̸̛̘͓̠͆̚á̷͕̦͂̏͐s̵̳͐h̸̨̯̄͘͠͠ã̸̡͈̐̏͜͜’s the one who spends the most time in storage, right?”

“ _ Who _ ?” I asked for clarification. The anxiety from earlier added on top of the already present auditory discomfort was making me feel prickly, irritable that I couldn’t make sense of what I was hearing.

Ollie spelled out her name for me, slowly. ‘S A S H A’, was the assistant who worked in storage, and I nodded.

Eventually we did have to split up and go back to work. Mike was back from his lunch break, and while Ollie retreated back to storage, the remaining three of us sat back down at our desks. I had no idea how Martin and Tim could do it. I felt on edge for the rest of the workday. I was buzzing with questions. I didn’t want to go to Jon’s office and talk about workplace accommodations, I wanted to hop on the first flight back to the United States and pretend none of it happened. I wondered if maybe it was all a really shitty first-day prank. But the sound of screams on the tape, that couldn’t be fake. It was too real, too similar to the kind of screams you’d hear from someone who knew or was pretty convinced they were going to die.

I never wanted to hear those screams again.


	3. in the static gotta make your pledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting, a gathering, a deal, and something else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so google docs was a pain in the ass for editing for some reason, I almost freaked the hell out because I thought I lost almost 700 words worth of edits and additions but it was just being buggy? But, if anywhere in that process it looks like I either didn't finish a thought or sentence, pls let me know  
> also this chapter title is from the song 'unspoken' by the dead daisies except the one i listen to is remixed by dance with the dead

I shifted my weight from side to side, finding myself getting worked up over the fact that I had to knock on a door. It was silly, I knew that, because reasonably speaking there was no way that anything bad could happen from it. Listening to the tape was the proverbial frog I ate; literally nothing was going to be harder than that. 

I had calmed down considerably since listening to it, making small talk with Martin while he made tea when our breaks overlapped. When he mentioned a statement about spiders, I realized that he was the assistant I spoke to over the phone so long ago. There was a sudden relief with that revelation, because the possibility that I had spoken to someone who had since been eaten by a sentient horde of _worms_ had weight to it. Specifically, a weight I just did not have the strength to shoulder at that moment.

Martin was nice though. And I appreciated the tea, it was fairly calming. Mike and I had settled into a sort of slow rhythm. Read the statements, corroborate details, and then sort the statements for later filing. It was a little more boring than I was used to, but it was strangely relaxing at the same time. Every now and then I would suddenly be aware of what I was reading, but I kept myself pretty well detached for most of it. I wasn’t exactly floating in the feel-good chemicals experienced after an intensely good workout, but the effect was the same. I was sore, tired like I ran from one end of the city to the other in sheer terror. My throat hurt, but the tea was soothing it.

I raised my hand, deciding to knock and get it over with so I could go home and not think about the day. I was about a second off though, because the door swung inward with such a force that my hair moved with it. Revealed, was Tim; face twisted into anger, eyes welling with tears like he was holding them in. Behind him, was Jon, head in his palm as he furiously scribbled something in the notepad in front of him. 

I could see the hurt look in Tim’s eyes, when they darted to the side, like he wanted to look back. He didn’t turn his head though and muttered an apology to me before storming down the hallway. I didn’t even hear any arguing.

“Um,” I stopped the door from closing with one hand and had an iron grip on my bag with the other. “Jon?”

He looked up and straightened his face out like it was impossible for him to not scowl. “Yes, can I help you?” He asked, his voice tired.

I cleared my throat, “I wanted to talk to you about workplace accommodations.”

An eyebrow rose behind sharp, angular glasses, “I believe you would need to speak with Elias about that, he’s the head of the Institute.”

I explained that when I passed Elias in the hall, I had asked him, and he said to go to Jon. Jon made a soft exasperated noise, but he nodded to the seat before his desk.

I sat down, holding my bag in my lap, “It’s not a lot, just, um.” I pointed upwards, “I have a sensitivity to certain sounds, and it can make it difficult to focus. The fluorescents feel particularly loud, for example.”

He nodded slowly, waiting for me to continue. 

“One of the things I did in Winchester was have headphones on me. You can verify this with the head of the department too, if you’d like.” It was strange how easy it was to fall into discussion with him, but I wondered if that was always the case.

We spoke for a few minutes, and thankfully he was understanding of my not having an official diagnosis about my nebulous hearing issues. Jon was tense about something when I first walked in, but seemed to relax the longer I sat in the office with him. When I first saw him to hand over a statement earlier that day, it looked like he was sizing me up. It was a little uncomfortable, because being transmasculine in a workplace was almost always uncomfortable for me, especially around new people. I hated the dancing around pronouns and the scrutinizing eyes to determine ‘what’ I was. But when speaking to him in the office, it looked like he had started to relax, that he thought I was a threat at first.

I let it go, considering the trauma he just went through. I understood the hesitation to trust strangers after a disaster. But I couldn’t forget the way he and Tim looked when I interrupted.

Otherwise, Jon was very receptive, even suggesting other things to make the work day easier. He mentioned that artifact storage was lit exclusively by fluorescent lighting, so I would need to remember headphones if I needed to focus there.

“Á̵̭̏ȑ̴̭̤̀e̴̛̘͖̾ ̵͕̾ö̸̪̦́̔t̵̟͖̽ḧ̵̛́ͅe̶̥̕r̵̥̣̍̽ ̴̱̏t̸͇́͊ḩ̶̅͐ḙ̴̊̚r̷͉͈̿e̴͍̊ ̶̙̖̾͠ș̴̋o̷͍͐u̷̯͛n̷͍̱̎d̶̼͌s̵̺̻̓ ̶͉͓̓̀ţ̶̳ŕ̸̤̳̑i̷͕̱͘g̶̻̰͗͠g̶̘e̶̞͠r̸͍̈́̈́ ̵̬͈̀͝a̷̧̕͠v̸̟̓̃͜ǫ̵͍̂͂i̵̩̙͂̐d̴̤́̽ ̴̯̍t̷̟͔̋o̶̹̹̒̎?̴̡̅” He asked, but I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying. For a second, it felt like I didn’t know English and that wasn’t accounting for accents. I hesitated, before asking him to repeat it slowly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and then carefully spoke, “ _Are there other trigger sounds to avoid?_ I know some people are sensitive to high pitched whistling or other electrical hums.”

I sighed in relief, a lopsided smile weaving into my expression. “Yeah, um. Low hums, cars can be a problem too. Usually, my issue is what just happened. It takes a moment for me to understand verbal communication, like spoken instructions.” The answer tumbled easily from me, even though my first reaction was to play it off.

“Since you’re not to be _listening_ to any statements, headphones during the workday shouldn’t be an issue. If there’s a chance that you cannot hear and need another method of communication,” he trailed off for a second.

“I know some American Sign Language, but I realize that might not be very useful here. I’m in the process of learning some British Sign Language though.” I said, “Oh, and um, written communication works as well, whatever is easiest.”

Jon wrote something down, and from what I could see, it looked like a note to someone. “Thank you for letting me know, erm-” He paused with a grimace. The way his forehead creased with that look made the marks on his skin that more noticeable. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

“Cosme Beneventi,” I made a thumbs-up. 

“Jonathan Sims,” he said, though it seemed more for formality since I did already know his name. “One more thing,” this interrupted my leave, and I sat back down in the chair slowly.

He pursed his lips, “It’s come to my attention that you were given a statement regarding what happened here at the institute.” I saw that he made an effort to slowly enunciate so I could read his lips if necessary.

I felt my stomach twist; was I going to be fired? Ollie was the one to find the tape. Were _they_ going to be fired?

Before my mind could come up with all of the horrible anxious reaction thoughts that were bubbling up, everything from termination of employment to being thrown into a pit of bugs, Jon thankfully continued.

“Unfortunately, that is the nature of our work here. That wasn’t really a _great_ primer for it, so I’m sorry you had to hear it.” There was some genuine remorse in his voice, though it was nearly entirely hidden by forced professionalism. 

I had no idea how to sugar coat what I was going to ask, so I blurted it out anyway, “Is that, um. When you say, ‘nature of your work’, is there a risk of something like this happening again?”

He stopped for a second, “There is a _risk_ , but we do try to minimize it as much as possible. We’ve implemented some extra security measures to ensure that this shouldn’t happen again,” he explained.

I nodded mumbling a ‘thanks’. “Have a good night,” I said, leaving his office. I got a hum that I assumed meant something similar.

Finally, once out of the office, I allowed myself to take a deep breath. Ollie was leaning against the wall opposite the door with their bag and they gave me a smile. “Hey, hey, young thing. You look like you wanna join the chess club.” The waggling of their eyebrows was not lost on me.

I snorted and let my gaze fall to the tiled floor, “Shut up,” I muttered, trying to shove the grin down to a reasonable smirk.

They looped their arm around mine and we began to walk down the hall. There was something so relaxing to doing that, as though we were back in school and leaving classes for the day. If I let myself think hard enough, I could pretend that it was true. But it wasn’t, and I knew that falling back on nostalgia wasn’t super healthy.

“Bye, Rosie!” Ollie waved to the receptionist as we passed the desk. I gave a wave as well, seeing an older woman with short, dark ringlets flash a bright smile at us.

It was grey skied outside, though I wasn’t super bothered by it. I still had to wear sunglasses, but it was easier to see. There wasn’t much of a breeze at that moment, but there was a sort of relief present with the fresh air. I wondered how I was going to make it a full month. Ollie was asking me about my conversation with Jon, and they seemed surprised that he was understanding.

I cocked a brow, “Why does that come to you as a surprise?”

They shrugged, “I don’t know, it sounded like he was such a hard-ass when I talked to Tim.”

I stared thoughtfully at the stones as we walked. “Ollie, they seemed close on the tape. I mean, the few times it wasn’t explicitly awful.”

“I don’t know, dude. I imagine that kind of thing puts a hell of a strain of any friendship-”

Behind me, I heard my name. And then Ollie’s. 

We paused to exchange a glance, before looking behind.

Aidan was trailing behind, trying to juggle both a hoodie and his messenger bag that honestly looked too heavy for his bony frame. “Wait up, wait for me!” As he approached, I could see the flush to his cheeks, and from what of his voice I could hear, he was out of breath.

I remembered then that he was asthmatic.

“Hey, take it easy. We’re not going anywhere,” I said.

As he approached, I could see that he had a similar ‘dress code’ to Ollie, which consisted of dark jeans and a plain long-sleeved shirt. It was almost weird to see him in anything other than business attire, but only almost. I had seen him in a full wizard’s costume for a cosplay, complete with his long hair down, blue-green costume makeup, and a velvety, red umbrella he referred to as the ‘Umbrastaff’, though I had no idea who he was dressing up as. 

“Hey guys, I just finished my day.” He panted, giving a sort of sheepish smile. “Sorry, I didn’t want to brave public transit by myself again.”

“That’s fair. We’re actually not going straight home, but we’re going in the same direction for a time.” Ollie said as we kept a leisurely pace for Aidan’s sake.

“Oh? Where are you guys headed?”

I stifled the sigh threatening to come out. I’d almost forgotten that Ollie and I were planning on meeting Martin and Tim to discuss _things_. Ollie covered though and told Aidan that we were checking out a little coffee shop not far from the share house.

“Mind if I come along? I’ve been dying for some caffeine.”

“As if you need more caffeine,” I snarked, but Ollie fumbled.

“Well, um, we’re uh,” they tripped over their words and looked at me for help.

Before I could register though, Aidan gasped softly, “Oh my god, I had no idea. I didn’t mean to intrude on your date.”

Thankfully Ollie responded before I could ruin the perfectly improvised cover. They nudged my hip, “Yeah, you know. Just, having some time together.”

Aidan was stuttering apologies as we continued walking, but eventually we settled into a casual conversation. Ollie of course asked what Aidan was doing in the archives, since the rest of us worked a general nine-to-five schedule. It immediately launched him into an excited discussion of his assignments because for once it wasn’t exclusively tech-support.

“It was a little weird,” he lowered his voice when we weren’t passing anyone, “ _I_ _’m pretty sure some of what I did was maybe slightly illegal_.”

“Wait, what?” I turned to look at him. He was rubbing the back of his head, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Like what?” I specified.

He sighed, “It wasn’t much, just some accessing of some confidential files that may or may not have been from the police department?” He inhaled sharply before muttering something, “I don’t think I was supposed to say that.”

“No shit?” I was suddenly glad that we kept our cover story. Aidan wouldn’t snitch, at least not intentionally.

“Yeah, mostly small things though. You guys get a lot of the reports I think, I just got to see the ones that didn’t have redacted text.”

“What was usually redacted?” Ollie asked.

“Okay, _that_ I’m pretty sure I definitely cannot share.” He pressed a hand to his mouth.

“Scrub,” Ollie muttered.

The two bickered on for a few minutes until we descended to the underground. I kept my headphones on that entire time, hoping that heavy music with harsh beats would be enough to not hear the train or the sound of speeding through tunnels. Aidan and Ollie were still talking animatedly about something, I think a game that they had been talking about before boarding the train, until we arrived at the stop closest to the share house. Aidan took his leave and waved as the train doors closed. 

Ollie nudged me, signing the same thing they did to me this morning, asking if I was okay. I curled my left hand into a loose fist, palm down, and curled my index and middle finger of my right hand, making a sort of scratching motion over the back of my left. It wasn’t the exact sign for ‘anxious’, but it was the closest that I could remember. They gave a sort of half smile, pointing at themself, and nodded, indicating that they were anxious as well.

The next stop was ours and the street we emerged onto was a little livelier than near the institute. I kept my headphones on and linked arms with Ollie as they navigated us through the streets; the number of people we’d accidentally bump into was nearly negligible to me when one sense was distracted. I didn’t understand why blasting Gorillaz, Florence and the Machine, and the occasional Dance with The Dead track translated as not overstimulating, but it worked. Especially in strange, new environments. I was probably going to have legitimate _loss_ of hearing before turning thirty but, compared to the alternative, it was a fair trade. 

While waiting to cross a street, Ollie showed me their phone with the directions. We were a few minutes away and technically early. I nodded and bit my lip, feeling nervous about it. I didn’t even know what we could talk about that wasn’t covered while we were in the hallway earlier that day, but clearly Martin and Tim still had things to say. 

Across the street from the coffee shop was something like a canal, and one glimpse inside of the shop filled me with dread. Just from where I stood, I didn’t see a single table open and the bar was a little too intimate in terms of how the stools were spaced. I didn’t notice Ollie was speaking to me until they waved their hand and pointed to their ears.

I removed my headphones, greeted with the sounds of the street, but not as bad as I was expecting.

“Would you like something while we wait? You can sit out here.” They offered.

I nodded, “Yeah, let me-” I reached into my bag to grab my wallet, but they shook their hand.

“Nah, this one’s on me. Maybe next time we hang out somewhere and it’s not about worms, you can cover me.” They grinned.

I rolled my eyes and watched as they headed inside the crowded coffee shop. There wasn’t much to sit on around it, so I walked across the street and sat on the stone wall that separated the street and the canal. I had absolutely no idea where we were, which by all accounts should’ve been scary. I took a breath and thought about what my old therapist would’ve told me, probably something along the lines of reframing it. I was somewhere new, so I would get to learn about it. I was somewhere I didn’t recognize, so I got to have the opportunity to recognize it in the future.

I kept my headphones off while I waited. It wasn’t quiet, but it wasn’t gratingly loud enough to need them at that moment. I was, however, finding myself becoming fidgety from lack of tactile stimulation, so I reached into my backpack and pulled out a sketchbook and pencil.

I didn’t consider myself much of an artist. I wasn’t trained in an artform in any capacity, not even art classes in school. But I learned that it was both very easy and very fun to draw birds. At least, easy in the style that I preferred to depict them with. Particularly crows. I liked crows. They were absurdly smart creatures and had earned their place in various mythologies and faiths over time. Even the ones that perched a few yards away from me on the same wall, hoping a tourist would leave a bit of pastry and completely ignoring me, were fascinating. 

In my peripheral vision, I watched as one of the crows took careful hops towards me. It was missing a talon, and there was something wrong with one of its wings that didn’t impair flight but was visibly different from the other wing. I held my breath steady because I wanted it to come closer, so I could say hello, however a human could greet a bird.

“ _Is that them up there?_ ”

I jumped, hearing a familiar voice behind me. The crow decided it didn’t want to be near me and flapped to the ground, meandering away from me and to some poor, unsuspecting sucker.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw Martin and Tim approaching from the same direction Ollie and I came from. I didn’t really know how to greet them, so I just waved before closing my sketchpad and tossing it and the pencil back into my bag.

“Just you?” Tim asked with a risen brow. He was visibly more relaxed outside of the institute, even cracking a smile like we weren’t about to discuss horrible things.

I shook my head, “No, Ollie should be coming out in a minute. I just wanted to wait out here.”

“Sorry to have startled you,” Martin said with a small smile. He looked a little more relaxed as well, but in a more tired way. I wondered if they were all losing sleep. 

“It’s okay, I wasn’t being very observant.”

They both leaned against the wall with me while we waited, though it only took a few more minutes until Ollie was walking out with both of our drinks. My head felt fuzzy in a way I was familiar with. Not inebriation or stress, just like I was being swaddled in a thick, comfortable blanket. I was tired still, but not quite as sore. I recognized it as coming down from an anxiety spiral, so I enjoyed it while it lasted.

“Here, sorry about that. They were packed pretty tight. This is yours,” Ollie handed me a to-go cup. “It’s some kind of ginger tea; I thought it would be easy on your stomach.”

I pressed the tips of my fingers to my chin and then moved them forward in a sort of arc, signing ‘thank you’ out of habit.

“Couldn’t find any open tables in there, but it’s probably for the best to sit outside if we’re trying to have a serious discussion,” they explained. “Do you want to get something?”

Martin shook his head and looked to Tim, “I’m good if you are?”

He nodded, “Yeah, might as well get this done and over with. I’m sure you two would rather be doing anything else.”

As what I assumed to be the dinner rush ended, the area cleared out gradually until only a few pedestrians would pass by. The grey clouds had moved on, leaving behind a wake of pinks and oranges and purples in their path. The sun wouldn’t set for some time yet, only being the beginning of fall. There was plenty of daylight left.

We had a lot to be covered though, and it ate through the remaining daylight hours. At moments, I would be hit with the brick-like realization that I was scared, because why the hell were we sent to the institute after an infestation like that? Did Fellows know? Did the president of our college know? Just how pervasive was the lie? It was there that the anger came in, and eventually it fizzled into confusion. The being formerly known as Jane Prentiss was dead. The infestation was taken care of, so it would make sense for things to go back to some form of normal. But it didn’t.

And worst of all, I felt a pang of sympathy without having the knowledge of how to express it in a way that wouldn’t open old wounds, for lack of a better saying. 

I wasn’t surprised by much of what they said, though if they had told me before listening to the tape I would’ve dismissed all of it. Winchester definitely had a large parapsychology department, but not even close to the same capacity as the Magnus Institute. The biggest scandal we’d had in a long time was a professor utterly destroying her husband -verbally- on the quad after hearing rumors that he’d slept with one of his graduate students. A far cry from a paranormal infestation.

“Well, you heard the rest of the tape,” Tim summarized the bits and pieces that didn’t make it, like his individual experience. Martin warily shared his experience, but opened up slowly as he spoke. I wondered if he was waiting for one of us to admonish him or something, but Ollie and I listened intently to his story.

“I didn’t hear everything on the tape,” I admitted. “I think I stopped with just a few minutes left, I couldn’t-” my words halted so I shook my head, crossing my arms.

“I don’t blame you, I didn’t think anything like this would happen. I don’t think any of us did.” Martin sighed, fiddling with his thumbs.

“We hadn’t either,” Tim said quietly, “Started listening to it, that is.” I had a hard time identifying the emotion in his tone; upset obviously, but I found myself floundering for cues around him and Martin.

Ollie pursed their lips, “If you want, I can listen to the tape. I also didn’t make it to the end until I got interrupted, but I have a tough stomach if there’s anything else on it we might need.”

“So, where is the tape now?” I asked, “Martin, didn’t you say you put it in your desk?”

Tim and Martin exchanged a glance, “We were hoping you might have picked it up, honestly.” Martin responded, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

I narrowed my eyes, “But, why would we go rummaging through your shit?”

“Because the alternative is arguably worse.” Tim answered.

“What’s the alternative?” Ollie asked, “Someone else took it?”

It made sense in that moment, why that would’ve been worse. Perhaps it was assuming too much, but the dynamic between the members of the archives department changed drastically since the incident. Adding that to the fact that the tape was gone in the first place, it looked pretty damning. There was certainly a lot I was still missing- but one thing dawned on me.

“You don’t trust Jon,” I blurted before considering the consequences. “Sorry, I just, um. Earlier-”

“Yeah, I know.” Tim said.

Martin was already trying to state otherwise, but Tim looked away, refusing to say anything else about my declaration. The look on his face was something close to what I saw when he walked out of Jon’s office earlier that evening. 

“That’s not how I would word it myself,” he said quietly. It was Martin’s turn to look away, though his expression read closer to something like grief. Tim sighed, “I think he’s being a silly bastard, thinking that he can only trust himself. I asked if he took the tape, not accusing him of anything, but he didn’t react well to hearing it was gone.”

To that, Martin supplemented with, “Everything’s changed so much.”

“Did Jon compile the tape?” Ollie reached to scratch the back of their head in thought, the ends of their faded pink rustling in the soft breeze.

Martin frowned, “We still don’t know that either. We know some people we could ask though.”

Tim shook his head, “If he did he hasn’t fessed up to it.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” I asked.

“Rarely gives me the chance,” the smile on his face was bitter. I opted to not push it further.

“Okay, so the tape is gone. Should we try to look for it?” Ollie suggested, their leg bouncing against the stone, wearing a frown.

“No,” Martin shook his head, and before any of us could interrupt he followed with, “I don’t mean any offense, but I don’t think this concerns you and your colleagues. If anything, it might just be best to try to get through the month so you can go home once more assistants are hired.”

“Oh lovely, more meat for the grinder,” Tim spat.

“ _Tim_ -”

“ _Or_ ,” Ollie raised their eyebrows, “We’ll keep an eye out and let you know if we find anything. We’ll have to go back eventually, yes, but the least we can do is help out wherever possible for the time being.”

“Yeah, Ollie’s still gonna be in artifact storage and I’m still gonna have to read statements. There are cameras in the building, right?” I asked. 

“You think you can get access to the CCTV?” Martin looked up as the streetlamp closest to us flickered on. The sunset was quickly dissipating into night. I hadn’t even noticed that much time passing.

“I might know a guy.”

“That was pretty ballsy,” Ollie bumped my shoulder as we slowly approached the share house, “How did you even pick up on that?”

They were referring to what I said about Jon and Tim, and I didn’t really have a good answer for them. Sometimes I felt like I knew what someone was feeling because of their expression, other times I felt like I was, well, an alien trying to decipher the very delicate, intricate nature of human emotion. I described what I saw before my discussion with Jon about workplace accommodations, and Ollie made a noise of understanding.

“Damn, that’s some Sasu-Naru shit right there,” Ollie said, as though I would know what in God’s name they were referencing. When met with my puzzled expression, they elaborated with, “You know, Naruto and Sasuke from _Naruto-_ ”

I stopped on the spot, “Oh my god, Ollie Evans I _cannot_ believe those words just came out of your mouth,” I was so angry too because I was fucking grinning because _what the fuck_.

Ollie folded onto themself, laughing so hard almost no sound came out. They took a sharp inhale and came back up, “I’m so sorry, that was very inappropriate.”

“That was _so_ inappropriate,” I slapped a hand to my face, because I was trying to not laugh, “What the fuck?”

Once they could control their voice, they cleared their throat. “I’m so sorry, I think I’m still fucked up from earlier.”

That immediately sobered us up as we stood under the weak light of a streetlamp, panting for breath after the bout of laughter. I couldn’t believe that it was nearly nine in the evening; it felt like I had lived through three separate days since I woke up that morning. My gaze went upwards, watching the dark sky, devoid of stars except for the man-made twinkling of an airplane passing overhead. I breathed deeply, trying to remember how to feel human.

“You okay?” Ollie asked softly, hands on their knees, shorter than me for once. 

“I have no idea,” I answered, though I felt my stomach growl. A giggle slipped past my defenses, “Though I could go for something to eat.”

“That sounds absolutely delightful, wanna split for some takeout?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

It was late.

Ollie and I ended up ordering from a Thai place and ate our food with their laptop propped up on the small dining table. We couldn’t figure out how to get a streaming service to play on the TV in the living room, but we made it work with a headphone splitter so we could watch X-Files and old anime. 

Lizzie and Mike had gone to bed earlier that evening, and Aidan was hunched over his laptop on the couch until Ollie and I were considering calling it a night. 

Ollie nudged my leg with their foot and nodded towards him as they unplugged their laptop. 

They were right. I needed to ask him something.

With our little setup dismantled, Ollie disappeared into the dark hallway towards our bedroom. I took the opportunity to stand from the dining room table and pad to the living room. Aidan didn’t notice me until I was leaning over the back of the couch, and when he did, he jumped like he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

I looked away momentarily, “Just wanted to ask for your expertise.”

“Oh, yeah sure. What’s up?” He asked.

“So, hypothetically, if you needed to access the security footage of the institute- again hypothetically, would you be able to?” I curled my hands into fists, trying to resist the talking-with-my-hands habit.

He narrowed his eyes at me, “Hypothetically?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He huffed a breath of air that was probably a laugh, “Alright, well. It would depend on what dates. Anything very old could be easy to get, that’s just a matter of finding a tape or file history. You wouldn’t need me, probably Elias or whoever else could have access to it.”

I nodded slowly, “Okay, what about anything newer?”

“How new?”

“Like today.”

He made a contemplative face, “Again, that probably wouldn’t be me, unless you were hoping to conduct some not-so-legal activities. You would have to wait though, I think.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, maybe a few days? Can I ask why you need CCTV footage of the institute for today?” The look he gave was cheeky, but also curious. Like he couldn’t imagine why someone like me would want to have access to the footage but also like he wanted in on whatever shenanigans could be afoot. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was potentially evil, capitalist shenanigans, at least that was my best assumption thus far.

I thought out my words carefully, “Just wanting to see who came and went into the assistant’s office after lunch. When did you learn how to do this, anyway?” I asked, hoping to deflect.

“That’s not much of an answer, but we’ll keep it on a need-to-know basis, okay? I had some,” he pursed his lips, “less than model citizen friends back when I was a teenager.”

“Fair enough. I’ll get specific time stamps if that helps. We’re hoping to find something that was misplaced. Is that sufficient?”

“Sure thing, boss.” He gave me the finger guns. “I’ll let you know what I find out about accessing them. Worst-case scenario, I can do a little finagling after we play a waiting game.”

“Right on, thanks Aidan.” I smiled. After wishing him a good night, I headed to the bedroom and briefed a very tired Ollie on what was agreed upon.

“Oh good, I’m always down for some potentially illegal shenanigans,” They yawned, clutching a squid plush. My limbs felt as though they were stuffed with sand as I prepared for bedtime.

I brushed my teeth and sat on the edge of the bed, putting my phone on the charger.

“G’night, Cosme.” Ollie mumbled from under the covers.

I slid under the covers after wishing them the same, dozing off with the hope that I wouldn’t remember the events of that day.

_I sat at the table, my fingers pressing against the uneven planks like I was trying to push their patterns into my skin permanently. I didn’t want to look at what was on the table. The game was almost over, the only moves remaining made it clear._

_I picked up a pawn and moved it one space forward. I wasn’t done yet._

_The boy who sat across from me, clicked his tongue. His medium brown hair was messed up, uncombed and unwashed. His pajamas, once bright green and blue, were dull. Faded. Dusted with soot._

_His eyes were grey and empty._

_“You’re putting off something that has to happen,” he said, moving a knight to take my rook._


	4. against the fortress that it made of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the song queen of peace by florence and the machine  
> So i didn't know where to put this chapter otherwise bc i wanted to show more of the dynamics between the OCs and i no longer have control of aiden *whoopsies*  
> I'm also trying to get more interactions between some of the characters but don't worry, you guys get to see martin and tim play a ttrpg in the next chapter which ideally will be up in a few days once this is posted  
> also there are some emotions in this chapter but poor cosme doesnt know how to approach them  
> AND ONE MORE THING: MILD TRIGGER WARNING - Cosme's experience with food on adhd meds is similar to mine, which is that its hard to eat food while medicated, but they aren't starving bc they're trying to make up for it with protein shakes. it's not an eating disorder behavior, but i know that sometimes small, seemingly innocuous things can be triggering when it comes to food/eating

_“You know I suck at chess.”_

_“Even against a ten-year-old?”_

_“Especially against a ten-year-old.”_

_“But you’ve had time to practice-”_

I opened my eyes, throat sore and body aching, but otherwise well-rested. Suspiciously well-rested.

Carefully reaching for the windowsill, I turned on my phone screen. The room was illuminated with soft morning light through the almost sheer curtains. 

It was half past six, not technically time to get up, but I was already awake by that point. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, feeling my back pop with my movement. I was in the middle of being enthralled with how quiet my ancient, squeaky bed was until I remembered that I was in fact, not in my own bed but a shared one.

I looked to the side and was greeted with emptiness. It wasn’t uncommon for Ollie to be an early riser, and I was halfway into the clothes I was going to wear for the day before I realized something was off.

The room was very quiet. Intentionally quiet; absent of any sounds in the bathroom to indicate that I wasn’t the only human occupying the space. And then, so quiet that if I hadn’t stopped to lament the loss of extra sleep I wouldn’t have heard it, I recognized it.

Muffled crying. Shaky breaths covered by something, a sleeve or tissue.

I took slow steps to the bathroom, leaning in to confirm that I was in fact hearing quiet sniffles and gasps. I’d heard Ollie cry only once before.

We were thirteen years old and devising a plot to run away. There was a grassy hill off in the distance, lined heavily by trees and early in the mornings we could see deer trek from the trees to wander across the grass, partially obscured by fog. It was perfectly visible from the tallest point of our neighborhood. Something about that life, being away from everything, from the case workers, the therapists, the teachers, everyone who couldn’t or wouldn’t understand me; the idea was intoxicating. Some days when we waited for the bus to pick us up for school, it took everything to not run with only what we had on our backs. 

Ollie, though they went by a different name then, had told me that their mom and dad taught them how to filter water from rivers and how to tell edible berries from inedible. 

I was so jealous of them, but not even in the mean way. My aunt and uncle never did anything fun like that. I had lived with them for five years by that point, practically a lifetime to someone my age, and the absence of cousins made it clear they weren’t expecting a kid to land on their doorstep. 

The bright sun warmed on our backs as we stood in the center of the undeveloped cul-de-sac, and we were in what Ollie called Phase One of the plan: the planning. We didn’t get very far, only to the part where we would keep our parents or legal guardians from getting suspicious, when Ollie’s father approached us. Ollie quickly doused the chalk outline with their water bottle before he could see, but he didn’t come any further than the stop sign, still a considerable distance from where we were sitting.

He called to them, the tears already beginning to form in the corners of their eyes.

I felt so scared I was almost sick. I thought he had found out the plan and was taking Ollie away so we would never see each other again.

When I went home that night, sitting on my bed waiting for my aunt and uncle to punish me for an act they weren’t even aware of, they told me something far worse.

Ollie didn’t go to school for the following week. And the one day they showed up for school, they said that their dad sold the house, and they were moving further up north. That was when they really cried. We swore, as children usually did, that we would call each other every day, and that we would get to see each other again, even if we had to bike the two hundred and seventeen miles to do it.

We did call, but visits were rare, something I didn’t understand the reason for until I was much older. 

I opened and closed my mouth, almost unsure if my words would’ve been any comfort at all. I stood there, terrified that I was going to somehow say something that would hurt them or worse, make them shy away from talking even more.

“Ollie?”

There was a _thump_ followed by a quiet “ _Fuck_ ,” before I heard the doorknob rattle and open.

Ollie stood there, still in their pajamas. Their eyes were puffy and irritated, a flash of panic sweeping over their features before they straightened up their posture and cleared their throat. “Sorry, I uh,” they took a deep breath, “I had a nightmare about the, the tape.”

I nodded. “Yeah, that was rough. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really. I’m gonna see if I can make some coffee, do you want some?”

I shrugged, “If it’s no trouble to you, but, you’re-”

“I’m okay, seriously. Just a bad dream, is all.” They smiled, but their eyes didn’t move with it. I nodded slowly and moved so I could use the bathroom and they could get dressed. If they said they were okay, then they were okay. I wasn’t going to force them to talk about something if they didn’t want to.

When I was done in the bathroom, the bedroom was empty again, but I could hear faint voices beyond the door. I finished getting dressed for the day and emerged from the bedroom, shoving my phone into my back pocket.

Lizzie sat at the table, forehead resting in her hand and I wasn’t sure if she was awake yet. Her hair cascaded down her back, like a waterfall in the dark night. The bags under her eyes were faint against her dark skin, though I couldn’t see clearly as her hand moved to rub the bridge of her faintly hooked nose.

Mike was standing in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled absolutely incredible, and from what I could see of his expression, he seemed just as tired as Lizzie.

“Late night?” I asked, gratefully taking the mug of coffee from Ollie as they exited the kitchen to sit at the table.

Lizzie moved her hand to glare daggers at Mike, who bit back a laugh as he sprinkled what looked like chopped bell peppers into the pan. “Hey, I didn’t tell you to drink with me.” The smirk on his face only encouraged Lizzie’s scowl more so.

“You guys went drinking last night?” Ollie asked, any traces of what happened earlier missing from their face.

Lizzie groaned, opting to rub her head.

“Well, there’s a pub not far from here, and if we’re in London we should go to a pub,” Mike responded, as though it were a universal law. “We’d gotten some things for the share house and since you two were gone and Aidan was,” he hummed, waving his hand, “doing Aidan things I guess, we decided to have a night out on the town.”

Lizzie gulped some water down, “Are you one of those freaks of nature who just doesn’t get drunk?”

He shook his head, “No, no, I _do_ get drunk, it’s just that very few people can tell.”

“Oh no, did you try to out-drink him?” I chuckled into my mug.

Lizzie pouted at me, “Cosme, you don’t understand. The man was six pints in and was still waxing poetic about Tolkien and C. S. Lewis’s love-hate relationship.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” I said.

“Still a better love story than _Twilight_ ,” Ollie said in the same tone I used.

“What is it, 2010?” I scrunched my nose at them.

“Anyway,” Mike interrupted, “Back when I was still in college, I worked in a Waffle House down south and learned how to make all the wonderful, greasy hangover cures.” He made some kind of flipping maneuver with the spatula and deposited the pan’s contents to a plate. It was an omelet, complete with specks of darker yellow that looked like cheese and colorful spots of red and green peppers.

Lizzie accepted his peace offering, eating silently as though talking made the hangover worse.

“You guys want anything? It’s gonna have to be egg based, we didn’t think to grab anything like flour or potatoes.” Mike offered.

“I’m hungry, but not very. Maybe a small bit of scrambled eggs, if you don’t mind?” I asked.

“ _I would like some as well-”_

I jerked in my seat, not even seeing Aidan come through the hallway. But he wasn’t standing there, and when I whipped my head around to the living room, I saw his curled figure on the couch, glasses half off his face and laptop mostly closed on the coffee table.

“Did you even go to sleep last night?” Ollie asked.

“If you count me nodding off at four in the morning when my laptop froze, then yes.”

Mike rolled his eyes, “Don’t you work today?”

Aidan grinned, looking more like an annoying teenager than he ever had before with his ponytail shifted to the side and messy, eyes red and squinting. “Yeah, but not ‘til ten.”

“You gloating motherfu-”

“ _Hey_ , that language is reserved for Mario Kart and Super Smash Brothers only.” Aidan stuck his tongue out at Lizzie, who was just then finishing her food.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes, “Alright, alright, whatever.” She took her plate to the sink and yawned, “Seven-thirty should be illegal.”

“Wait, seven-thirty-?” I looked at the time, convinced I was late, but it was only just seven.

“Yeah, Elias wants me to come in early. Something about extra training.”

I did not miss the way Ollie stiffened in their chair, and I kept my hands under the table lest my white knuckling looked off to her. “What’s the extra training for?” I asked, forcing my voice down to a casual tone.

“Some kind of management skill, I think. He said it could help me get a better position back in Winchester when we go back. Maybe I’ll get to be an Interim Archivist like you two,” she looked between myself and Mike. Soon she disappeared into the hallway to begin getting ready.

“Alright, come get your food,” Mike said as he set some plates onto the table. But he didn’t join us, and instead went into the kitchen to clean up after breakfast. He had eaten before Lizzie, finishing off his plate as he offered to make one for her. 

Aidan eventually inched his way into the kitchen, dragging the blanket with him until he was wrapped up like a one-armed cocoon, slowly eating his breakfast. I knew that small talk would’ve been the easiest way to unwind. Do something to distract myself from the nagging thoughts about Lizzie going into the archives early, but I couldn’t do much to participate. Maybe it was as innocuous as it sounded, and Lizzie was going in for extra training that could help better her career. I had no idea what could possibly be so dangerous to warrant my anxiety, but the idea that Elias might have paid to keep things under wraps about the worms made me very uncomfortable.

When we finished eating, I took our plates and washed them in the sink, allowing myself to fall into monotonous action. I had no evidence to suggest that Elias would hurt Lizzie. Sure, he could be a careless bureaucrat under his polite, professional mask, but that wasn’t inherently dangerous. I made a note to talk to Tim and Martin about it, to ask if it was a good idea to tell my colleagues about the worms.

Aidan was essentially crawling back to his bedroom once he shut down his laptop, but he messaged me over our phones before hopefully going to sleep.

‘ _I know a guy- 72hours’_

I could only assume that seventy-two hours was meant to be read as three days. I didn’t like the idea of waiting that long, but I could at least trade that bit of information for advice.

Back in the bedroom, Ollie was getting dressed for the day. I began to make the bed for no other reason than to have something to do with my hands. 

“Do you want to go with Lizzie? We’re already up early.” Ollie suggested.

“Kind of. I’m trying to be reasonable, because I don’t think Elias is going to toss her into a pit of worms.”

“I think there’s a mutual benefit to there being no worms in the archives, correct.” Ollie responded. They sat on the corner of the bed once I was done, careful like they didn’t want to undo my efforts. “Believe me, I’m worried too, but I think Elias would be really stupid to do any of the things _I’m_ personally worried about.”

“What are you worried about?” I asked quietly, sitting on the bed as well.

“I dunno, being fired? Having to scramble from paycheck to paycheck so I can keep the land Dad bought? Lots of things, dude.” They sighed, “Oh, you meant in context of that- I guess probably intelligent worms. Uh, finding a dead body? Working here might cause the apocalypse?”

I snorted, “Yeah, I suppose some of those are more realistic than the others.”

“Let’s just make it through the month. I have no idea what we can do here, but maybe it’ll help the archival team if we can get them evidence.” They patted my back and stood. 

I stood as well, keeping those words in my head as we prepared to leave the house for work. We just had to make it through the month. Just one month, and we could go home. It felt bad, to think like that when the others didn’t have that luxury, but there was only so much we could do. So, we would do what we could, and get out of the way when it was time.

“Hey Cosme, do you and Ollie want to go check out this club?” Aidan showed us a picture of what looked like a gaming bar, like for _Dungeons and Dragons_.

I narrowed my eyes, drinking my meal replacement shake. “Why?”

“Okay, so that friend I told you about is really cute and it’ll be the first time we meet face-to-face and I don’t wanna go alone, so I’m proposing a one-off campaign to sweep them off their feet.” Aidan grinned, hoping to appeal to my disgustingly romantic side. But he already got me, so I was nodding as Ollie asked about whatever his ‘homebrew’ rules were.

“Among other things, of course,” Aidan raised his eyebrows. I wanted to tape them down to a resting position, because Aidan’s strong suit was definitely not subtlety. He texted me earlier that morning that his friend was able to access the footage, albeit definitely not through legal means.

A few days had already passed, and though I couldn’t shake the need to look over my shoulder every so often, I was feeling better. Ollie was still confined to artifact storage for the most part, but it was tolerable since they could come back to the surface to take lunch. After the second day of not finishing my lunches, they suggested the idea of the chalky meal shakes. The taste wasn’t great, but in terms of texture, it was way more feasible than trying to force myself to eat something that tasted like sand but had the texture of real food while on medication.

Aidan made sure I at least had something solid during lunch, usually an apple or a banana that he packed with his own lunch. I felt weird about it at first, but he insisted that he enjoyed giving food to friends, he just wasn’t good at actually cooking it. I didn’t complain, as fruit was easier to stomach than a dish.

I opened my mouth to say something and then closed it. The suggestion to invite along Martin and Tim died in my throat. Was there a reason we were being secretive about them wanting to see the footage as well? Perhaps it would be smart to not broadcast the whole ‘Hey, the investigation that happened was garbage and should be conducted again’ thing we found ourselves doing, but Aidan was generally smart.

“Oh my god, did you hear what Lizzie said about the institute?”

Ah yes, that was why. ‘Smart’ and ‘blabbermouth’ were not mutually exclusive traits. I raised my eyebrows to indicate my attention to what he was saying.

“Apparently, there are tunnels that run under the building. She wants to explore them but she was having a hard time finding an entrance-”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.” Ollie blurted, and when Aidan frowned like he was about to argue, they continued. “It’s probably crawling with rats and spiders dude, not to mention probably haunted as shit. You know how old London is, what if you find one of those plague caverns and end up on an episode of _House_?”

While the idea was morbidly fascinating to him, eventually the enthusiasm in Aidan's voice died down to reasonable curiosity. I had no idea how Lizzie found out about the tunnels, but at least we had no idea where the entrance was should our own curiosity get the best of us. Ollie’s outburst was brilliant though, because more likely than not Aidan would tell Lizzie that. Were there worms? Probably not, but that wasn’t something I felt like exploring without at least seven hazmat suits and a cart of fire extinguishers. 

The days began to blur after the first week or so. We settled into a routine, and I was happy to see that the routine did, in fact, _not_ include worms or whatever other horrible things haunted the back of my anxiety-addled brain. I did not allow myself to dwell on thoughts like that for long, no matter how hard it was to read the statements.

The statement about the thing in the alley, the anglerfish thing, was pretty awful. That one was old, and had already been filed, but it was lumped in with one of my daily assignments, so I read it anyway. And then of course, right underneath that statement, was one submitted by some poor woman who caught a glimpse of someone changing into a new person but no one believed her when she said he looked different. The only follow up to have been completed was the acquisition of a piece of furniture from the man’s apartment. Once again, already filed and done with. Were the old ones supposed to be practice? I had no idea and just pushed through it.

Soon enough though, the first weekend was upon us and we finally had an opportunity to have some time off since, well. Since working at a place like the Magnus Institute. Walking out on a Friday evening knowing that I wouldn’t have to come back for two days was rather liberating.

Unlike the previous days, most of the assistants were clocking out as well. I had always assumed that Martin, Tim, and Sasha worked different hours than us, but as they grabbed their things from the office, it appeared that working late was more common than not.

Lizzie had been sent home earlier that day, to our collective surprise, because a new assistant had been hired. It felt weird that she had a plane to catch the following Monday, but after training she said that she felt like she could do the job of an actual archivist and be paid for it. It was nice hanging out with her, so I was a little sad, but she promised to video call us and send pictures of the Captain. None of us were expecting the possibility of being sent home early; it was almost as jarring as watching someone being sent home on a cooking or baking show.

But she was happy. She said the institute was creepy and she was more than glad to be offered a better paying position back at Winchester upon arrival.

Mike and Aidan left slightly earlier than we did, having racked up enough hours over the week to go back to the share house to start their weekend.

“See ya later, S̵a̵s̷h̸a̶.” Tim waved, throwing a grin her way as she started off in one direction.

She gave a smile and a wave, “Have a good weekend, everyone,” she said, her voice becoming lost in the crowd of Londoners hurrying to get home before traffic or transit got overwhelmed.

Tim watched her walk away with what looked like remorse, but as soon as I caught his attention, it disappeared before I thought to ask anything. My hand instinctively went up to rub at the outside of my left ear; I felt like my brain was more scrambled than usual that day and had a harder time hearing anything.

“So, Dungeons and Dragons?” Martin asked, looking at his watch as we approached the train station.

“Yeah, Aidan made a friend who could help us find the footage from the CCTVs, and they’re meeting in some kind of club Saturday to share the data. Apparently it’s safer that way?” Ollie hummed, “Though I know jack and shit about computers so maybe I’m wrong.”

“I trust his knowledge about this stuff,” I said, holding a hand up to block the sun from my eyes. The sunglasses could only do so much at certain times of day.

“I think I know what club you’re talking about,” Tim said brightly, “That’s the one next to the all-hours pizza place, isn’t it?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Ollie said, pulling up the address that Aidan sent over a secured chat. 

Tim leaned down to read it and nodded, “Yep, lots of good memories there. I wonder if that one bartender still works there,” he trailed off in thought but Martin looked at him wide-eyed.

“I never pegged you the type to play tabletop games,” he said.

“It’s a tragedy, truly,” Tim mumbled.

“What?”

“What?”

“Anyway,” I piped in, not caring much about what either said then, “I gave him a couple of time stamps but he may have all of that day if you want to see a different time.”

“Does he know why we’ve asked?” 

“Well, given the uh, _legality_ of the process it took to get the footage,” I started.

“Or lack thereof,” Ollie spoke under their breath.

“Yeah, right now we’re on a need to know basis. He knows that we’re looking for something that has been misplaced, but he doesn’t know about the worms or that what’s been misplaced is a tape of what happened.” I said.

“But we’re going to discuss, or even watch it in the club?” Martin sounded doubtful, which was fair considering I didn’t elaborate much.

“Aidan said that it’s on a flash-drive, but since his friend hasn’t been able to get any new drives, only a few hours fit on one. If I’m correctly reading how he talks about this friend though, I imagine it won’t be hard for Aidan to ask for the rest of it.”

“Fancy a movie night Sunday, then?” Tim joked.

The train station was where we parted since we were going in different directions. The entire time they waited for their train, Tim insisted that Martin would make a good bard on account of the poetry. Martin was truly shocked that Tim had played the game but he hadn’t, and there was a good-natured bickering between the two about video games once the subject shifted in that direction. It was almost uncomfortable, too intimate to see how they interacted with each other compared to when they were at work. They would joke every now and then, but nothing like that moment on the platform.

It was our train that arrived first, and we waved as the doors closed.

“Do you think we’ll know who took it?” I asked.

Ollie shrugged, “ _We_ probably won’t, but what matters is they might.” 

I nodded, equipping my headphones after signing ‘loud’ to them. We sat in silence, nearly falling asleep as we reached our stop. 

Aidan and Mike were playing something when we entered the share house, music from Lizzie’s phone playing softly in the background while she was preparing something in the kitchen.

“Hey,” she smiled at us, “You’re just in time, those two won’t help me chop veggies for dinner tonight.”

“Sounds like men,” Ollie joked as they set their bag down next to the door. I followed suit and accepted the cutting board from Lizzie. 

“As soon as this game is over, I promise,” Aidan called from the living room.

“Don’t games of chess take a while?” Lizzie asked, taking care of her own cutting board of potatoes. 

“Not if you’re about to win,” I could hear Aidan’s grin, and I wondered how Mike handled hanging out with someone almost half his age.

“That’s interesting considering that you narrowly avoided a ‘checkmate’ earlier.” Mike smiled and placed another piece forward.

I chopped up the bell peppers while Ollie minced the garlic and ginger, excited about Lizzie’s curry. It was a modified recipe since her mother wouldn’t send her the original recipe on account of ‘Not being old enough for that knowledge yet’. So, during the months we lived together I got to try out the variations, until she ended up with one that didn’t taste like her mother’s, but she was still proud of it anyway.

Once everything was prepped, Lizzie kindly but insistently shooed us from the kitchen so she could focus on the curry. For such a good recipe, it was one she hadn’t written down, and instead let her taste buds decide when it was perfect. “I will probably definitely call for help again before I’m done cooking,” she announced. It was only fair.

I wished though that she would call for me specifically because watching Aidan and Mike play chess was simultaneously interesting and terrifying because of how quick they would move pieces, or quick for chess, rather. It was like watching people play slowed-down Mario Kart and it didn’t help that Aidan was a world-renowned shit-talker and Mike was secretly the most competitive person I’d ever met.

“Cosme, wanna pick my next move?” Aidan asked with a cocked brow.

I shook my head, “I don’t really play chess.”

“Do you want to learn how?” Mike offered, moving a bishop to take Aidan’s knight, prompting an ‘Oh _fuck_ you’, from the younger player. 

“I kind of know how to play, just never really interested me to play it.” I pressed my fingers into the legs of the coffee table in front of where I was sitting on the floor.

Ollie rested their head on the coffee table across from where I was, towards Mike’s side. “Wasn’t there a web comic that had some kind of convoluted within-game mechanic based on chess?” They narrowed their eyes, watching the moves unfold before them.

“Oh god,” Aidan groaned pausing to grimace either at the unnamed comic or his remaining pieces.

“Wasn’t it something like _Home-_ ” 

“I will pay you honest to god real money to not ask me about that comic.” Aidan paused, taking a moment to see his pieces until he paused and got up. He shushed Mike, who I assumed was about to ask what he was doing, but Aidan moved to look at the board from the side, a different perspective than his previous position.

He moved a piece forward and, “Checkmate,” he grinned.

Mike sat back to look at the board with an impressed look on his face. “That _is_ an unorthodox move there, but there isn’t an official rule about staying in your seat.” He shrugged and began to clean away his pieces, “Clever.”

Aidan began to stash his away into the cloth bags that came with the board game, “Told you I have a perfectly adequate technique.”

“You play chess like someone tries to play a mage as a tank.” Mike’s comment punched a chuckle out of me, but Aidan’s reaction to Lizzie’s howling laughter is what sent me into my own fit of giggles.

“You don’t even play those games!” Aidan argued.

“I played those games when you were in kindergarten.”

Oh god, I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die like that, keeled over from laughing at a joke so hard but at least I was going to drag Lizzie and eventually Ollie with me. Just when I thought I was regaining composure, the fact that Aidan got dunked on by _Mike_ of all people would hit me again and I’d collapse into giggles. Maybe it wasn’t that funny, but after the last week, it brought a smile to my face that was so genuine and human that I almost forgot about everything else.

“I would sell all of you to Satan for one corn chip.” Aidan grumbled before going to the kitchen to pout through the job Lizzie was giving him.

I wiped away the tears that slid out, finally calming my laughter into the occasional huff of breath before volunteering to help with dinner. Ollie followed behind, helping to get the rice started while Lizzie mulled over whether to add more cinnamon or not. Mike got started on washing any dishes in the sink, and it was almost a little too much because we all had to shuffle around each other in the tiny kitchen.

But it was nice. It was nice to bicker in a crowded kitchen, even if I could barely hear what everyone was saying as their voices overlapped. It was alive, even as we settled down at the table to eat and continue to poke fun at each other. Something in my heart clenched, because it reminded me of working together before Ollie had to leave Winchester. Even if Aidan wasn’t there then, he was a welcome addition to the crew. I wanted that moment to last forever.

I was very full of curry and sleepiness when I crawled under the covers, listening to Ollie discuss the finer points of gardening. They had quite the kitchen garden back in the states, and they maintained it very well. So well that they weren’t worried about it being unattended during the month. I tried to understand how the root systems were stronger than the average boxed plant as Ollie described it, but I found myself dozing.

“Cosme? You still with me?”

I swung my head up from the pillow, “I’m awake, I’m here,” I slurred rubbing at my eyes.

Ollie’s giggle told me they weren’t convinced, “Sure, I bet. Come on, go brush your teeth. Then you can pass out on me.” 

I grumbled into the pillow, but Ollie didn’t hear me say, “Cavities are for babies,” so they had no problem goading me into the bathroom. I didn’t resist much because I knew they were right.

Finally, when I rested my head on the pillow, I felt myself being pulled into slumber. I didn’t bother putting my phone on charge since I wouldn’t need any alarms for the morning.

I felt something soft and warm on my head like a hand, barely there for a second before it disappeared. 

“ _Goo_ _dnigh_ _t, Cos_ _me.._ _.”_


	5. streets are uneven when you're down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The nerds are playing Cyberpunk, folks  
> I just really wanted a chance to see some of these characters have fun, but I'm worried that I'm not capturing the voices of the TMA characters very well... But I hope that maybe the group chat attempt did something? IDK, I just want to see them have a good time T^T  
> So the timeline is getting a little foggy as I keep writing, but I imagine this to be nebulously in the middle of S2 now. Obviously this is going to change a lot of what happens in S2, but hey we'll see what happens babeeeey  
> chapter title from people are strange by the who

“Is this necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t  _ think _ it’s necessary.”

“Dude, you’re more than welcome to tell me to stop.”

“I mean, I’m, I’m already settled and comfy.”

Ollie was leaning over me, carefully applying an orange-red eyeshadow to my eyelid. I never wore makeup. Not as a rule, but more of convenience. Makeup could be fun, but it was a pain in the ass to get it right. I spent a year in high school agonizing over it until I realized I didn’t care enough to put in the expected effort. Ollie on the other hand, enjoyed playing with it, especially for costume purposes.

Hence, why I was lying on the mattress as Ollie leaned over my body to apply makeup to my face. They insisted that after we created our characters for the campaign later in the evening, that we have a little fun with the role-playing aspect of it. The character I built was one I had used for the only other campaign I’d played, but I had to tweak it a bit to fit the specific theme Aidan gave us. Something about a corrupt, capitalist government, a futuristic society, and body modification; it was a little hard to follow him while he described the universe he created but it sounded like he spent a lot of time on it.

I forgot what exactly my character’s class was within that universe but Aidan said it was the equivalent of a rogue with a getaway van, like Han Solo but not quite as intergalactic. But, since it was a weird, grungy, technological futuristic society, Ollie decided that a techno-punk look was the way to go.

“Almost done,” they said quietly, adding small touches of some color to my cheekbones.

Their makeup was reminiscent of how I did my makeup in high school when I gave up on making it look perfect. Dark brown and wine colors lined their cinnamon eyes, smudged like they’d slept in it but it didn’t look messy on them, but a lot like the punk musicians everyone had crushes on as children. Their character’s class was something like a ranger but had some kind of special skill that called on three NPC’s into any combat situation for backup. 

Ollie swung their leg from over my body, “Do you want to do your eyeliner, or would you rather me do it?” they asked, pulling their hair out of the tiny bun they kept it in over the day. They claimed it helped the curls in their hair stay better. “Actually wait, go look in the mirror and tell me what you think.”

I chuckled and stood, peering into the bathroom to get a good look. I didn’t usually do anything to bring out the color in my eyes, but Ollie picked out a lot of warm colors to brighten the green-blue hue of my irises. Mine was done a little cleaner than theirs, fading from pink red at my lash line to a yellow-orange outward. I opted to just use mascara.

“I like it, thank you,” I smiled. I reached for the button-down shirt on the bed and began to tuck it into my jeans. It wasn’t quite what I imagined for the character, but a black shirt and red high-waisted pants was the best I had in that moment.

Ollie at least looked the part, with their leather jacket and shorts-torn tights combo with their boots.

“I feel silly.” I admitted, trying to make the medium brown poof atop my head do anything I willed it to.

“Why’s that?” Ollie’s voice was slightly remorseful.

I back pedaled because I didn’t quite express it well enough, “No, like, this looks good, I just,” I paused to think out my words more. “I haven’t done anything like this in a while.”

They grinned, “That’s okay, and hey, if we’re the only ones who did this, at least you didn’t do it alone.”

I forced down the insecure thoughts, because they were right. I couldn’t help some of it though, “Wait, do we have to ride the train like this?” I asked.

Ollie shrugged, “Maybe. Think of it this way, no matter how nervous you are, Aidan is at least going to be more extra.”

“I don’t know if I should be comforted or alarmed by how quickly you two connected.”

With that, came a knock on the door. I did a quick look-over to make sure I at least liked the image presented in the mirror while Ollie opened the door to our bedroom. Aidan stood there, decked out in what I could only refer to as cyber-wizard attire, from the iridescent shirt, the acid-green boots, the extremely tight -tighter than my pants- jeans and wizard’s hat with a gear instead of a bow, to the holographic lipstick and black, glittery eyeliner around his eyes. 

Ollie narrowed their eyes at him, “Did you  _ just _ make that hat?”

He rolled his, “Of course, I took cosplay  _ very seriously _ when I was in high school.”

I cocked an eyebrow, “Aren’t you the DM?”

“Sure am, that’s not gonna stop me. We’ve got a few minutes before we need to go to get there on time, are you guys almost ready?” 

After confirming that, we migrated to the living room, where Mike sat on the couch watching a documentary on Arthurian legend in modern storytelling. He took one look at us with raised eyebrows, and while I had expected him to make a comment about Halloween, he instead rested his chin in his palm. “You guys look like a rave scene right out of the early nineties. Like, the colors from the eighties are still there, but without the teased hair.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not to take that as a compliment, so I mumbled a thanks while Ollie made a thumbs-up.

“Is Lizzie still out?” Aidan asked.

“Yeah, she wanted to go to a poetry reading tonight at the place we got drinks at.”

I frowned, “I didn’t know she was into poetry.”

“No, but the barista who hit on her all night is.”

I rolled my eyes, because that was a very on brand thing for Lizzie to do. Though, she was very charming, so I tried to feel excited for her. Not everyone had a stick up their ass, I was coming to learn. Some people went out and had fun. I forgot for a moment that technically a D&D campaign was supposed to be fun, and not some kind of weird covert mission to get maybe not legally obtained CCTV footage of our workplace.

“Have fun, kids,” Mike waved at us as we departed the share house, and for one terrifying moment I remembered that we were going to have to take the train to get to the club.

Aidan winked at us, “Ready to go, esteemed players?” He tipped his hat.

I couldn’t stop the smile though, “Yeah, man.”

“Let’s fuck it up,” Ollie flashed a bright grin, shining even under the dim streetlamps.

I didn’t know what I expected.

It was a gaming club, essentially. Tables, large and small, filled the long space with a bar in the back and a large telephone booth that I believed led to the bathrooms. I knew what the phone booth was meant to be but I wasn’t going to acknowledge it. 

It was a gaming club on a Saturday night specifically, so it was fairly loud. Not quite unpleasant, but I wasn’t sure how long I would be able to withstand it without the help of alcohol, and I was not a big drinker.

Ollie nudged my elbow, and I looked up at them. ‘You okay?’ they signed.

I nodded and gave a thumbs up, afraid that if I let myself get too worked up then I wouldn’t enjoy the night at all. And to a degree, I wanted to enjoy it.

Aidan looked at his phone and then to the sea of tables and people, “He said he got a table in the back since it was a little quieter. Are your new friends showing?” He peered over his shoulder.

Ollie picked up their phone, “Yeah, Martin said that they would be here in a few minutes. Shall we go sit down?”

We followed Aidan, weaving between tables and quiet dungeon masters and loud, drunken players excited about a good roll until we approached a large table with only one person seated.

He stood up and pulled Aidan into a hug, “It’s so good to see you!”

Aidan laughed, and for once I heard a genuine, flustered tone from him, “It’s good to see you too, Gomez.”

The man, Gomez, turned to us and flashed us an equally bright smile. His dark hair was slicked back, and I could not tell if his thin mustache was drawn on or just very well maintained. He wasn’t quite as dressed up as Aidan, but he wore a ripped black tank top under suspenders and somewhat loose jeans. That, or he had one hell of a fashion sense. “Happy to meet you, I’m Gomez Adams.”

“Like,  _ Addams _ ?” Ollie asked.

“No,  _ Adams, _ one ‘D’,” he chuckled, “I’ve been a friend of Aidan’s since we were in school.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you guys were old friends,” I said.

Aidan shrugged, and I didn’t miss the faint red on his cheeks, amplified by the glitter. “A lot of it was through old programming forums. We were the only ones who hit an image limit regularly when memes started getting into fashion.” 

“Good God, I’d almost forgotten how common those were,” Gomez patted Aidan’s shoulder. “Are we missing a few friends?”

I opened my mouth to say something but found myself being interrupted by a slightly high-pitched and anxious apology that seemed to travel closer to us.

We turned, greeted by Martin and Tim. They weren’t dressed up quite like we were, but I wondered if Tim had been a theater kid, or just really enjoyed D&D because it was the first time I’d seen a smile that wasn’t bogged down by something else. Martin looked very lost, but in a curious way rather than terrified.

Once the greetings were out of the way, Aidan sat down and brought out his laptop. “So, business or pleasure first?” He grinned.

I rolled my eyes, “Maybe business in case our new friends,” I gestured to Martin and Tim, “have other things to get to tonight?”

“I haven’t done anything like this in a long time, so I intend to have fun,” Tim said enthusiastically. I tried to remember what he said about his character when we chatted about it during a lunch break over the week. A bard of some sort? With a double bass, possibly, but it was too fuzzy. 

Martin was a cleric, that much I remembered because he specifically said he wanted a healing character. In Aidan’s game, Martin’s class was medic, and I thought it was ridiculous that it was the only class of Aidan’s that I remembered. 

“Either way, but I do need to be home before midnight,” Martin stated.

“And I’m his ride,” Tim followed.

Aidan nodded, “Sick, so the kings will turn to pumpkins at midnight.” Tim snickered and Martin stuttered over his words, face turning pink.

With a flourish, Aidan pulled out his laptop and a very thick binder that momentarily terrified me. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

_ It’s the year 2045 and the third corporate war has come to an end. Night City is rebuilding various housing sectors and it appears that funding promised to the Watson district has instead been broken up into smaller amounts sent to the various executive parks. Watson is left in ruins, leaving its remaining residents to get crafty for survival but very little is left to support the community. You five come together to discuss a secret plan to syphon funds from neighboring executive parks to help rebuild your destroyed community and anything is game, from bank robberies to guillotines and seizing the means of production. Where do you start?  _

After Aidan finishes setting the scene, we fall into a rhythm of playing. I later found out that it wasn’t his world that he created, just another tabletop role-playing game that he called Dungeons and Dragons to trick me into doing something new. And it worked, it was so much fun. Even when Tim, or rather ‘Tony Goldeneye’, accidentally blabbed the plan to infiltrate a bank to the  _ bank teller _ of all people; and especially when I rolled a critical fail and forgot how to drive my own van during the getaway, forcing Ollie, or ‘Red’ (short for [REDACTED]) to call their ‘family’ for a towing getaway.

“Please stop dying, I can only heal a few people at a time and I’m low on bandages,” Martin whined behind his hands as Gomez rolled another critical fail and accidentally shot the back tire of our van instead of the side mirror of the blacked-out car that chased us.

“Please stop shooting my van!” I cried when Aidan informed us that the soccer mom van that was towing the original getaway car was getting low on fuel.

“Well if  _ Dave _ didn’t forget how to drive stick-” Gomez countered, stifling his laughter but failing spectacularly.

“You’re supposed to be a mercenary,  _ Wade, _ you biffed the aim.” Ollie came to my defense. “Oh merciful Game Master, can I roll to see if any of my family has extra fuel or an extra tire to patch up our van?”

“I’ll allow it,” Aidan said when he wasn’t doubled over in laughter eventually. He had taken his hat off at some point and was carefully dabbing at his eyes so he wouldn’t ruin his eyeliner.

Ollie made a grimace as they rolled their die but sighed in relief as they read off the number.

“Okay, so you, you talk into your little communicator and your buddy manning the soccer van says that he’s got more fuel but there’s no way he’s gonna be able to refuel with the fuzz so close behind.” Aidan started. “I will tell you this though, if you look at the map, you’re heading real close to a temporary community that’s kind of off the side of the main road. What you do with this info is on you.”

He stopped to roll a die and read from his computer screen. Ollie’s turn was the end of the turn order and it was time to start at the top again. He grinned at us, “It is now the guards’ turns. The guards in the car all,” he paused to roll a different die four times and he raised his eyebrows. “That was incredible, they all miss their shots even though they’re riding your ass. The next guard on the motorbike speeds up and is now on the driver’s side and tries to open the door.”

“Unfortunately, that is in fact where I am sitting,” I mumbled.

“It is indeed, and it’s also your turn, Dave.” Aidan pointed out.

I frowned because while driving, I didn’t have the ability to do much. “Uh,” I drew out the syllable in panic, “What if I hold onto the door and when he’s just close enough, I open the door to push him off his bike?”

“Do you have the initiative to do that?”

“Yes, but I would also like to use literally all of my luck to make this work.”

“Alright, roll.” 

Wearing a similar expression to Ollie’s when they rolled, I couldn’t watch as the tiny piece of plastic clattered on the tabletop. But it was a good roll if Ollie and Martin’s combined cheers was indicative of anything.

“Hell yeah,” Aidan cheered me on, rolling his own die and nodding. “Alright, so you succeed but the van swerves as the rider eats it so the other four guards are still on your tail. Keats, it’s your turn.”

Martin sighed and looked at his character sheet, “Okay, Wade and Red are still the two most injured of the group, correct? Then I’m going to heal those two.”

He received a triumphant noise from Ollie when it was a successful roll, since they accidentally set off the detonator for the safe doors with only three seconds instead of thirty. Gomez nodded, “Excellent, time to undo that hard work.”

“Please consider  _ not _ doing that,” Martin rolled his eyes. It was clear though, how wide he smiled that he was having fun. It was good to see that, because my actual first time playing a tabletop RPG was more stressful and embarrassing than exciting. It was nice seeing someone having a good first experience with what was usually a heavily gated kind of community game.

Tim clapped his hands, “My turn? Cool, Aidan are we still getting close to that community?”

“In like ten game seconds you’re going to pass through it and will be driving through it for about a minute.” Aidan informed us.

“Perfect. I’m going to use charismatic leadership and try to encourage the people to chase after the guards.” The mischievous glint to his eyes was only amplified by the slight, inebriated flush to his cheeks. Tim stated when we first began to play that he hadn’t played Cyberpunk since he was a kid, and the glee in his expression could’ve been described as almost childlike, save for the alcohol in his system of course.

“You absolute madman, how are you even going to do that?” Gomez tapped his chin. “Oh! You could climb out of the van and hop onto the vehicle towing us.”

Aidan pursed his lips, “You are still being actively pursued by people who are all trained marksmen.”

“Fuck,” Tim hissed, biting his lip, “Does Dave’s van have an aux cord?”

I popped up my collar like I was actually cool, “Course I do, it’s a vintage 2020,” grinning because I got an annoyed groan from Ollie and Aidan.

“Okay, I plug my guitar in, and start playing ‘Killing in the Name’ by Rage Against the Machine.  _ And _ ,” he pointed in a general direction for emphasis, “I have little megaphone out the window while I encourage the people outside to get involved and raise hell.”

Aidan was trying so hard to keep it together and not just laugh at the mental image presented, “Okay, I- hmm. You  _ have _ to roll for something, I know that, but I really want this to work so I’ll give you advantage.”

“Is advantage a thing in Cyberpunk?” I asked. Ollie shushed me through their laughter, worried that I would accidentally make Aidan change his mind but he seemed too on board to care.

“I am the Game Master and I say it is. Tim, roll for charisma.”

Tim held his breath as the die settled on the table, and then raised his arms up in a cheer. We all leaned over to see that he rolled a critical success, loudly proclaiming various expressions from surprise to triumph.

“Oh my god, okay so you succeed so well, that several people get in their vehicles and as you speed down the road, they begin to like, bully the armored vehicle. Like, they’re boxing the car in and forcing it into a different route and are so successful with throwing them off that the rest of the guards in that car end up on a route to the other side of the city. This leaves you and a few new friends from that little community as the only drivers on a mostly isolated road.” Aidan held a hand to his forehead as he described our getaway scene, just as amazed as we were that despite how many times we screwed up, we managed to not only get away with our lives but also with a sizable amount of stolen money.

“That was a good game,” Ollie said with a smile, cheeks tinted pink from the cider they drank while we played. 

Gomez nodded vigorously, “Absolutely- and we ended on an open note. We could continue this in the future if we’re interested?” He wiggled his eyebrows like he was trying to convince us of it.

Aidan groaned, “God, trying to get you people to play is like trying to corral kittens.”

Gomez opened his mouth like he was about to start bantering, but he interrupted himself. “Sorry, I almost completely forgot. Aidan said you’d probably want the whole day so,” he set a small, zipped pouch on the middle of the table.

We fell silent for a moment, before Ollie nodded, “Got it. Thanks for this, seriously,” they locked eyes with him to ensure their sincerity. They pushed it towards Martin and Tim who both looked at it like they were afraid it would bite, but eventually Tim grabbed the pouch and shoved it into his pocket.

“It  _ was _ a little difficult, I won’t lie, but I’ve been itching for some fooling around lately.” Gomez admitted, running a hand through his hair. Over the night, it wouldn’t stay slicked back and instead began to bounce forward in dark, loose curls as we played.

“Difficult?” Aidan raised an eyebrow.

Gomez made a thoughtful sound, “Not so difficult as it was tedious. The system was very old, I couldn’t even use my usual set up to crack it. Had to find an older machine, which was weird because a lot of places in the world have made it easier to put systems in place for, well,  _ certain _ purposes other than security.”

Though I struggled to follow exactly what he was saying, Aidan didn’t and supplemented with, “It  _ is _ an old building, would that change anything?”

He received a shrug as an answer, “Sort of? It made me wonder if whoever runs security for it kept it intentionally old. It’s not like you would have to install extra hardware to make it work these days, unless it was, say, a bank or government official building. But again, those aren’t very common and most people wouldn’t think to shell out the amount of money it would take to have it set up if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

I frowned, at least somewhat understanding that. If I  _ did _ understand correctly, what I was hearing suggested that the Archives building had a very old security system that could’ve been updated, but wasn’t for one reason or another. The reason couldn’t have been money though, because how else could the cover-up be imposed if the Archives was low on funding?

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but it is eleven and I think my flat mate’s still here and they’re my ride,” Gomez flashed a charming smile to Aidan, who reacted as anyone would around a handsome man being intentionally charming.

Aidan giggled, “It was good seeing you, you made a good solo.”

“Why of course,” Gomez flexed a little for show, and Aidan’s eyes shot wide open. Someone next to our table cracked open a bottle of something, and I heard the clicking noise. Aidan quickly composed himself and leaned in for the hug, waving as Gomez looked for his ‘flat mate’.

I snorted once Aidan turned to face us, wearing a bright red blush under the glitter on his cheeks.

It took a moment to wade our way out from the tables and of the gaming bar, but soon we found ourselves wrapped up in the cool night air. 

“Oh my, what time is it?” Martin pulled out his phone, groaning that it was a quarter past eleven. Tim started talking to him about the ride home, and I realized that Aidan was being fairly quiet. Like, very quiet for Aidan, especially after such a thrilling game experience.

I nudged his elbow with mine, “You good? It seemed like you had a lot of fun in there.”

He held his hand out, opened his mouth, and a few pieces of plastic and a smooth, thin metal wire fell from his mouth. I recognized it as his retainer because I’d watched him clean it one morning before work.

“What-, Aidan are you okay?” I couldn’t read the expression on his face, was that panic? Pain? Aidan wasn’t saying anything about it either as he tried to piece the retainer back together. 

Ollie approached us, “Dude, what happened?”

As Tim and Martin approached, probably hearing the worry in our voices, Aidan finally spoke. 

He cleared his throat first and pinched the bridge of his nose, “He flexed,” was all he said in a helpless, embarrassed tone.

I had no idea what that meant, but Ollie erupted into laughter that seemed to catch even them off guard. “You, you’re joking right?” they asked.

“What happened?” Martin tilted his head, frowning as he echoed Ollie’s earlier question.

“Oh no,” Tim began to speak, but his own laughter interrupted him, doubling over in a similar fashion to Ollie.

In between almost uncontrollable giggles, Ollie finally gasped out, “ _ You thirst-snapped your retainer? _ ”

“Don’t you laugh at me!” Aidan scowled at Tim and Ollie, but he was beginning to wheeze in frustration and disbelief.

It occurred to me then what they had meant- that Aidan clenched his jaw so hard when Gomez flexed that he snapped his own retainer. I pressed a hand to my mouth, but the shuddering of my shoulders gave it away while I tried so hard to not laugh.

Aidan gave up on convincing us to not laugh and instead joined in, “We will not speak of this at work,” he glared down all of us but it was hard to take him seriously with a broken retainer in hand, dressed up like a cyberpunk wizard, laughing just as hard as we were.

When we finally calmed down, it was nearing midnight and we needed to go home. While I didn’t have any alcohol that night, the soft breeze was relaxing like I had. Ollie was just tipsy enough that everything was at least twenty percent funnier, especially Aidan’s recap of his internal experience of the night. It technically wasn’t a date, but the first time he and Gomez had ever seen each other face to face. He didn’t have to elaborate the fact that they’d been flirting on and off for the last few months, but he sure did anyway. 

“I’m sure you two were probably more forward,” he paused, “I’m so jealous, at least you two don’t have to travel overseas to go on dates.”

I glanced at Ollie, who shrugged. “Actually, we lied about that.”

Aidan frowned at us, “Huh? Why?”

“We were meeting Tim and Martin at the coffee shop to talk about  _ the thing _ , and we didn’t know what we were allowed to share in regards to  _ the thing _ .” Ollie ran a hand through their hair and yawned. “So we just decided to roll with your assumption.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. You two are adorable together.”

I whined as I tried in vain to completely remove the mascara from my eyelashes, succeeding only in irritating the surrounding skin further.

Ollie was in a similar boat but didn’t make too much of a fuss about it. I imagined they were more used to it. “It’s probably not good to do this, but I usually give up by now and just wash it off later,” they admitted.

I sighed in defeat, letting my head fall back. “Why does God hate me?”

All I got was an agreeing hum from behind, Ollie having tossed the makeup wipe in the trash and going to the sink to rinse away any residue. After wiping their face dry, they waved to get my attention.

‘Look at message?’ The question came from the expression on their face, and I knew what they were talking about.

“I’m gonna wipe the remover off,” I gave a thumbs up, so they knew that I was agreeing.

It wasn’t like we felt that we were being listened to, but the walls were rather thin. We knew that because Lizzie was on the phone with the cute bartender she was with that night. She wasn’t being very loud, and neither of us could hear exactly what she was saying, but it never hurt to play on the safe side.

Once I emerged from the bathroom, Ollie sat cross-legged on the bed and pulled out their cell phone. It wasn’t the one they used in the states, but rather was a cheap touch screen, pre-loaded phone that admittedly was poor quality and buggy. But, it would work for the month.

Ollie had a messaging app pulled up on the phone, watching as texts appeared on the screen.

“What’s that?” I asked quietly.

“The app Aidan and Gomez recommended.” I nodded my understanding, remembering that when we paused for everyone to take a bathroom break, they made Ollie download a messaging app. I didn’t quite understand what made it secure at first, prompting Aidan to explain encryption and how most messaging apps can be accessed by law enforcement or anyone who had the desire and resources to otherwise. While there were a lot of big words and unfamiliar words in his explanation, the basics was clear enough: we could text on the platform without Aidan and Gomez getting arrested, and we could all keep our jobs despite illegally obtaining CCTV footage from our place of work.

Ollie started to type out a response to Martin, who was suggesting what I assumed to be a location. They scooted a little to the side so I could look over the messages.

**TimIsStoked:** did we ever decide a time to meet up and watch the footage?

**MKBlackwood:** I see you enjoyed picking a username…

**MKBlackwood:** Also, I’m sure Ollie and Cosme would enjoy having a Sunday off

**TimIsStoked:** indeed I am a man of simple pleasures

**OllieOof:** lemme check with cosme and I’ll get back to you

**TimIsStoked:** sure

**TimIsStoked:** what does your username even mean?

I reached over to grab the phone from the bed and began to type.

Ollie frowned at me, “Dude, you could just download the app and participate on your phone.”

“Too late,” I mumbled, continuing my message. 

**OllieOof:** hey it’s cosme

**OllieOof:** so I personally am down for Sunday

**OllieOof:** so is ollieasdfdsgh

**TimIsStoked:** ???

**OllieOof:** p09u8jio

**MKBlackwood:** Are you two okay??

“Oh my god, get it on your phone!” Ollie hissed, batting my hands away as I tried to swipe away their phone again.

“ _ Mmmmnnguhh _ , fine.” I reached over and grabbed my temporary cell to download the app.

**OllieOof:** everything’s cool, just had to tell cosme to gET THE APP ON THEIR OWN PHONE

**OllieOof:** instead of being a phone stealing GREMLIN

**CosmoCosma** : hello everyone

**TimIsStoked:** hello, phone stealing gremlin

**OllieOof:** so Sunday works?

**MKBlackwood:** it works for me

**TimIsStoked:** me too

**OllieOof:** cool, Sunday it is

**TimIsStoked:** also, you never answered my question

**OllieOof:** it’s a bastardized meme that was originally an inside joke back in college

**TimIsStoked:** I see

**TimIsStoked:** actually

**TimIsStoked:** martin, do you think jon knows what a meme is?

**MKBlackwood** : I don’t know, and I’m not sure if him knowing would be more surprising than him not knowing. 

**CosmoCosma** : how old is he?

**MKBlackwood:** He’s our age, so probably 33?

**OllieOof:** Ah, so generic millennial age

**TimIsStoked:** wait how old are you two?

**CosmoCosma:** 25

**OllieOof:** so TECHNICALLY millennials

**CosmoCosma:** not much difference really, except meme usage probably

**TimIsStoked:** ah, to be young and free

**OllieOof:** bold claim there, bud

**MKBlackwood:** I don’t think Jon even knows how to use Twitter?

**TimIsStoked:** that does not surprise me one bit

**CosmoCosma:** to be fair I also don’t know how to use twitter

**OllieOof:** twitter doesn’t have the best memes anyway

**TimIsStoked:** I would’ve figured you to be an avid twitter user for some reason

**CosmoCosma:** nah it’s starting to get like facebook with the presence of so many older folks… even the older millennials dude

**TimIsStoked:** wait

**TimIsStoked:** hang on

**MKBlackwood:** I didn’t think about that, I don’t use Facebook anymore

**TimIsStoked:** did you just call me old?

**OllieOof:** hmm I think they did

**MKBlackwood:** OMG Tim I don’t think they were trying to call you old

**CosmoCosma:** one moment please

**OllieOof:** cosme is furiously editing something on their shitty temp phone and I don’t know if I should be worried or excited

**CosmoCosma:**

**MKBlackwood:** OMG

**OllieOof:** ah, there it is

**TimIsStoked:** martin do you see this child trying to dunk on me?

I was laughing so hard that my ribs hurt, and only laughed harder when Ollie tossed a pillow at me.

“Stop picking fights, you toddler.” They grunted, gritting their teeth so I wouldn’t hear them laugh but it was too late, I was already on to them. 

**MKBlackwood:** I see two children arguing 

**OllieOof:** well, fools, this has been fun but I have decided to not participate anymore

**CosmoCosma:** just cause?

**OllieOof:** go to bed, you demon

**CosmoCosma:** as if you go to bed at a decent time during the week

**MKBlackwood:** You two bicker as if you’ve been married for years

**OllieOof:** close enough

**CosmoCosma:** we grew up together

**MKBlackwood:** Oh, that’s actually rather sweet

**CosmoCosma:** it was until we’ve figured out how to press every other button and annoy the ever-loving shit out of the other

**OllieOof:** tim has been quiet for a long time

**MKBlackwood:** He’s probably pouting lol

**TimIsStoked:** I’ll have you know I was NOT pouting

**TimIsStoked:** I wondered if jon actually had a twitter and apparently he did a few years ago, hasn’t updated it since 2012 and all of the posts are of the same cat named the Admiral

**CosmoCosma:** I love the Admiral already

**OllieOof:** WAIT god we’re SO BAD at this

**OllieOof:** did we ever decide where we were going to meet up?

**MKBlackwood:** We could go to the café again

**MKBlackwood:** It shouldn’t be as crowded as it was last week

**TimIsStoked:** martin, the footage was obtained illegally

**MKBlackwood:** Oh, I honestly forgot about that while playing the game

**TimIsStoked:** we could also go to a place of residence

**TimIsStoked:** either way, we can decide tomorrow

**TimIsStoked:** we probably won’t meet up before noon and I am worn out

**CosmoCosma:** good call

**OllieOof:** yeah, cosme’s met their self-imposed fun limit for the day 

**CosmoCosma:** you live with me

**CosmoCosma:** you’re going to have to deal with me 

**MKBlackwood:** Goodnight everyone!

**TimIsStoked:** night marto

**OllieOof:** cosme threw their phone on the bed bc theyre annoyed, so goodnight from us both!


	6. unspoken scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note, this chapter gets heavy quick but it does get resolved to an extent; SCP undertones are not quite undertones in this chapter  
> so the chapter title is inspired by the song scar by dance with the dead but there are no lyrics so i had to pretend i was creative

Mondays weren’t really a day I had any particular feelings about, save for Meatless Mondays at Winchester’s dining halls where the vegetarian options were significantly better. I didn’t make a habit of doing anything particularly wild during the weekends, so the end of one wasn’t a spectacular event.

Lizzie was out of the share house early that morning, to catch the plane back to the states. I woke up as she was trying to make something to eat and decided to see her off again even though we ordered pizza the night before to celebrate.

“This is so weird,” she had said, “I feel like I shouldn’t be leaving so soon, but I also kind of want to never go in that building again.” Her half smile, looking back on it, wasn’t so much of a smile as it was a slight grimace. She was always in artifact storage, or in a single office when she went in for extra training, so I couldn’t tell what exactly made her uneasy; she wasn’t one to elaborate too much on things like that.

“Elias is kind of creepy, too. Nice enough, but he kind of makes me think of one of those hard ass teachers who has eyes on the back of his head.” I smirked at her joke, helping her with her things to the taxi outside.

She hugged me, telling me something but I couldn’t remember as she ducked into the backseat and waved me a farewell. 

“B̵̢̡̳̱̘̫̑͝ê̶͎̎̕͝ͅ ̴͉̲̺͋c̸̟̖̿̎̕ą̸̦̹̲̩͊͗͘͝͝r̴̯̦͇͍̖̀̆̍̊͝e̶̗̹̅͒f̴̭͔̞̟͒̊͑̅̒͆u̶̡͈͍̲͗̾̈́̾ḻ̷̥̿,̶̢̛̮̹̲̞̎̿̂͑͌͜ ̵͚̹̻̔̑͊̑̂w̷̪͖̗̟̳͆̃̉͊e̸̛̹̼̊̾͝͠ ̶̘̻̲̯̱̉k̷͚͇̞̃͆͒̽̚n̷̠͇͓̒͐̐̇͜o̸̢͍͊̽̊̋w̷̮̚ ̴͓̩͖͖͓̼̓̋a̶̬̮̲͐̚͝ĺ̵͎̘̜͇̣̈̃̋̾̌ŗ̶͓̣̄͆͠e̷̱͈̫͈̔̎͗̒͌ȃ̴̖̓̈́̓̓d̸͍̊͌͝ÿ̴̛̫̖́ͅ ̴̖͎̐͐̇̐̒̕m̸̟̍͂̔͋u̴̺̝͓̹͋͛̇̒͐c̶̟̞͒̾͆͆h̷̛̯̉̈̋͑͘,̴̲̔͐̎̑͊͝ ̵̗̖̳̈́͒̓c̶̨̰̺̳̩̃̉̂͂̈́ǎ̵̱̰̲͇͔̭͆͝r̷̨̢̮̬͈̝͊̑̾̈́͆e̸̙͔͒f̴̗̆̂ų̵̛̛̘͎̠̻̈́̒̈̆l̸̩̩͙̭̼͔͌͆̏͗ ̷͎͚̬̬̘̻̅̐͊͝͠c̵͉̯̖̙̾̋͠͝ȧ̸̡̹͋̕̕͜r̵̯̼͚͎̔e̶̹̼̼̗̼̔̒̀͛̀f̸͖̩̼̺͊ù̵̢̡̮͕̀̇ļ̴̙̝͚̗̃͜”

It was earlier than six and I wasn’t so much of a morning person, so I was still pretty groggy, leaving some details to be rather fuzzy. I knew that Lizzie was trying to tell me something, the faintest hint of worry in her eyes. But, at some point that memory became lost when I went back inside and fell asleep the moment I laid my head on the pillow. When I woke up again to my alarm for work, Lizzie was already on the plane, leaving the institute behind her.

Ollie snored softly beside me, sleeping like a rock. I silently wished that I could sleep too, but I felt off the longer I was awake. Like something was riding the edges of my vision, teasing me with something that I felt I should’ve just known.

We didn’t do a whole lot on the day before, Sunday, aside from eventually deciding on meeting at the Institute’s library. It was open only to students and some faculty on the weekend, and found it easy to sneak in. Ollie seemed suspicious at first, but I thought it made sense. No one from the archives, according to Tim and Martin, went to the library for fun during the weekends. Even Jon, who’d started to make a habit of staying after regular business hours for work, didn’t come to the library much unless he absolutely had to.

Aidan insisted that I take one of his laptops instead of using our own. It was an old, clunky laptop that had no internet capabilities and ran on Linux, an operating system I had no experience with whatsoever, but Ollie had just enough to use it. I didn’t see the point to it, but Aidan was adamant that because he knew who built the computer, he knew it didn’t have any location trackers like more modern computers had. 

“Trust me, I didn’t get this far in the field by following the rules. I got into a lot of trouble when I was a kid because I wasn’t serious about covering my tracks.” 

I knew him to be one for jokes, for pranks, but the look on his eyes told me that he was being very, very serious.

Hence our frustrations that, while we watched the footage of the hallway for that entire day, we didn’t see much of anything that would’ve indicated that anyone took the tape. There was us, and we were all accounted for after agreeing to check our bags and desks during the week to be sure we didn’t actually misplace it. Jon only went into our office twice, though I was out of the room for that time, and Martin vouched for those appearances. 

There was something off with the cameras. Not necessarily broken, because they ran through the whole time with very little video distortion, but slightly bugged. Sasha went into the office during one of the time stamps, popping in and out so quickly that we had to slow down the footage to see that she had only been in the room for a few minutes while all of us were gone. I only knew that it was Sasha from the shape, because otherwise I couldn’t make out specific details. Short dark hair in a sort of bob, and a bright cardigan- Ollie said that she was wearing a yellow cardigan on our first day.

“Sasha might have it, she might not have realized what it was.” Ollie suggested.

Martin squinted at the screen, taking off his glasses and cleaning the lenses with the bottom of his shirt. “Oh, I s’pose that is Sasha.”

Tim didn’t say anything at first before shaking his head. “That’s Sasha, but why wouldn’t she have told us she had the tape?” 

I shrugged, “Maybe she doesn’t know what to do with it?”

“But it was inside a desk, not lying around to be accidentally picked up.”

The atmosphere was already tense when we had started watching the footage, so when we all fell quiet, I thought I was going to start vibrating in my seat with anticipation. There was something they weren’t telling us and I had no idea how to ask them about it in a productive manner that wouldn’t come off as accusatory like I had when I brought up that Tim didn’t trust Jon.

But also I was convinced that if I didn’t say anything in that moment, then I wouldn’t get it out at all.

“Okay,” I said quietly, wincing still at how my voice sounded in the bubble of our silence. I found myself already unsure of how to word it, so I signed at Ollie, ‘Ask S A S H A?’

“’Ask Sasha’?” They clarified.

Martin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “That would be the next best course of action, but,” he trailed off with a remorseful sigh.

Thankfully though, Tim picked up the trail with, “She’s changed since Prentiss.”

I nodded, “Well yeah, it sounds like you all did; it was a traumatic eve-”

“No, like,” Tim made a noise of frustration, “Jon became paranoid and almost delusional and obsessive about the body, Martin is afraid to be home alone-”

“Tim-”

Tim ignored Martin for the moment, continuing, “I’ll admit that I’m as afraid as they are, probably more than is necessary. Christ, even  _ Elias, _ who has a stick up his arse longer than the Thames changed a bit after it. Sasha-,” he stopped, like he didn’t want to say what was about to be said.

“The  _ body _ ?” I echoed, apparently taking the words from Ollie as they had also opened their mouth to say something.

Martin huffed a breath of what sounded like defeat as he glanced at Tim, but there was no anger in his gaze. Just exhaustion. He leaned forward onto the table, “We might as well tell them,” he said quietly.

Tim waved his hand, “You do it.”

“I’d prefer not to, I’ve repeated it enough.”

With both Ollie and I staring at them expectantly, Tim finally told us.

“During the attack, Martin got separated from me and Jon while we were temporary worm food.” His hazel eyes fixed on the table, intentionally not looking at either of us. Martin looked away when Tim said, ‘worm food’, looking to the side like he was afraid he would see what was described.

“The body was of the previous Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson. We were told that she had died of a heart attack or stroke or something while at work, so Jon was hired to take her place. She was sitting in a room down in the tunnels and had been shot several times. Jon thinks that someone has it out for him now that he’s the Head Archivist, like one of us is going to shoot him down,” the pain on his face was familiar, the same that I saw when I walked in on him and Jon. 

Ollie was silent, while all I could get out was, “Huh,” like it all made sense. It didn’t, and I then found myself with more questions than I had started with. But, it at least explained the tension amongst everyone. I barely knew Jon, but if the person whose job I took turned out to be murdered, yeah, I would also be terrified that I was next.

It was clear that we weren’t getting anywhere, so it was left at that. Ollie was right, it wouldn’t mean much to us, but at least Tim and Martin could talk to Sasha about the tape. Maybe it would help their strained relationship with Jon and vice versa.

I didn’t like the feeling that settled into my stomach, like it was making a permanent home there.

“I think I finally understand  _ All Star _ now, like, on a spiritual and emotional level.”

I groaned my agreement, at least understanding now why most everyone in the archives just, went on with the days as they came. There was something about Thursdays that were just so viscerally unpleasant and never in my adult life up to that point did I figure out why. Either the looming freedom of the weekend or the growing stress was going to send me skyrocketing to nonexistence, ascending to another plane of reality to cope with having to sort through statements and other files that had been otherwise neglected for what looked like decades.

“Everyone who is an official employee here should be allowed to set something on fire for cathartic release,” Mike muttered while closing a box and labeling it. “This is worse than having to rework the entire first floor of Hampton.”

I shuddered at the memory. Hampton was the Hampton Library on Winchester’s campus. It was the third oldest building on campus and though it looked like it was well maintained, any time it rained heavily on one particular side of the building, the water would leak through the windows. After many complaints (and much groveling), we were finally able to ask for newer windows to prevent a repeat of the flood of 2016, where half of the first floor had an inch of water and several shelves were hit with what was essentially a torrential downpour. The books were able to be saved, since the Library staff had seen what would happen before damage could occur, but for the rest of that rainy week, we had to team up with them to reshuffle the shelves and desks.

But I would’ve rather moved entire bookshelves than to sort through whatever chaotic filing system was in place before Jon took the role as Head Archivist. I was beginning to sympathize with him when I managed to catch him in the hallway, asking if he knew where a particular file was. On top of the whole horrifying stuff with the title, having to deal with the actual  _ work _ part of it must have been nightmarish to have to adjust to.

Sasha was out, checking on a lead that was probably going to take a few hours so it was agreed upon that she would go home afterward. That left Ollie and Mike to join me in the storage room to sort old statements in case they needed to be referenced in the future. I couldn’t understand Sasha’s organization style, so I went with a temporary one until I could pair with Ollie or Mike to further sort. Sasha said something about going on a date later that night as well, but I couldn’t tell for sure. I’d been feeling more prickly than usual, and sometimes you can only say ‘What’ and ‘Can you repeat that’ so many times before it starts to drain you.

Speaking of, I put my headphones back on in a huff, letting the aggressive thunderstorm sounds drown out just about everything else. Music was too much, too distracting, but the sound of thunder and rain was relaxing to me.

The statement in my hand was dated back in 1845, a letter written by a woman who heard her dead husband ask her to eat him when there was no more food. The first thought through my head was reasonably, ‘How was that possible?’ and then the thought morphed to ‘I don’t want to know, thanks’.

It wasn’t very hard to sort that one in my improvised system; old, but so old that there was no way to conduct any real follow up other than to verify names- and dates, should we have been so lucky. I set it in a pile directly across from me where I sat, cross-legged on the concrete floor. I sighed, careful to not let my frustrated breath jostle the delicate balance I was so desperately trying to achieve. The statement under the cannibalism one was another old statement, by someone named... von Closen? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care enough to look through it again. I didn’t enjoy treating work with the ‘don’t know and don’t care’ attitude, but in the interest of not having to fall asleep thinking about anything like real-life vampires or taxidermy, it was the only way to go.  
  


“W̶̙̥͚̤͔̱̐͒̑̈́͌̽̄͒͝ȟ̵̨͓̥̯͓͔̼̝͖̒͒̈́̎̏͘y̴͔ͅ ̶̥̼͇̜̑͂͊̒w̸̳͓̼͋̉̈́ẹ̷͍͙̃͝ṙ̸̨̩͎͖̩̳̫̪͍̈́͝͠ē̷̛͕̲̮̣̃͝ ̵̢̠̯͒̀ơ̷̢͔̟̲͖̓́͗͜ú̵̡̳̳̠̳͕̻̞̻̑̇̿͝t̶̥͚͚̜̩̖͖̦̀s̸̛̏̅͋̈́̊͐̓͜i̴̛̖͙̱̝̜̋̔̉ḑ̷̼͕̥̦̮̯́̿͆͝e̸̤̝̫̪͚͇͍̪̜̒̏ ̴͕̬̯̟̐̑̿̄͌̂̊̕y̵̨̼͙̑̍̃̆̊̈́̂ ̵̱̭̻̈́̒̐h̸̨͚̠̹̀͋̊̔͝o̵̧̳̗̙̦͉̤̤̓̄̀͝u̸̮̟͇̖͐͋̄̒̑͗͝͠s̷͕̉̈͝ë̵̡͎͓̟͙̠́͌?̷̨̢̧͇͂̈͜”

  
I straightened my back, turning to Ollie and Mike, but they looked just as puzzled as I felt. I couldn’t hear much through my headphones, even with the attempt to not blow out my eardrums before the age of seventy. Removing them didn’t do much either, so I stood, ignoring Ollie and Mike telling me to do otherwise, and approached the door.  
  


“D̷̜̹̼͆̍̄o̴͚̩͙̪͌͋̑͠n̵̢̬̂̃̈̉͗̾̃̄̌'̷̨̧̨̥͕̰̖̤̪̉̈́͗̉͑́̾͒͝t̶̝͇̟͈̜̯̥̗̞͂̑̆̉̓͗͠ ̷̨͚͑̎̍͑͋̀͑͌l̸̳̠̭̣̜̦͋̇͊͊͘͠i̸̼͎͚̯̬͚̺̗̅̎̚̕e̷̙̙͎̍̓͗̽̋͝ ̵̢̤̗͍̱̼̠̈́̆̾̒͝t̷̢̳̙͙̖̩̰͕̳̽̽̄̀ ̸͙̀͘m̶̜̻͇̖̞͆̊̉̌̕é̴͍͙͎͕̳̦̮͚̽́̐ ̴̨̧̺̤̩̦̻͐̅̈͒͜J̷͖͓͓͛͛̄͘ ̷̨̹̫͔̗̖͊̒̈̂͛ņ̵̢͚̜̔ ̷̨̳̹̺̝̾̀̂͘!”

“Ǐ̵͙͎͙̺͚̼̊̑̈́ ̷̡̢̡̲̦̥̣͎̈͆ͅw̸̻̞͉̤̟͊̓̍̇͘a̶̛̙̪̩͔̐̽̂̔̃̾̕ṣ̴̳͛ ̶̱̲̆͐̊̌̔͌͌͋̎o̶͔͍̳̓̎̐̉t̶͙̃́̅͊̇͘͝ ̵̮̭̱͈̃ơ̸̧͈̝͙̘͕̹̇̀́͂̓̚͠ͅų̷̛̘̗̥̹̊̔̍̐̊̌̊ẗ̸͎͉̜͉͎̝́̈͝ͅ ̴̢͉̣͔͍̤̞̯̬̑d̷̡̝̹̱͠͝ȅ̵̡̡̡͙͓̝̩͈̊̈́͐͐͘ ̶̨̛̯̑̈̇̒̔̈̕ự̵̠̜̍̃̆͆͘͝o̶̢͊̓̋̓r̷̛̺̘̟͙̍̆͊͐̾͂ ̸̡̣̠͈̥̫̔̇͒͆͐h̶̝̯̠͈̓͋͂̒̆̈́̕͜͜͝o̷̧͈̖̭͔̝͇͐͐̄̉ư̷̩͙̝̜̠̳͍̯͋͑͒͐̄̿̑͋s̶̨̺ę̵͚̬̍͒͂̏̅̃!”

  
I opened the door, unable to recognize the voices but I knew the tone was violent, like the only thing that prevented it from escalating was feigned professionalism and, and,

Fear?

Jon and Tim turned to me, faces red and angry, though mostly shocked.

There was a tense pause, until Jon began to stutter out excuses. Tim asked me to leave, though the politeness in his tone was heavily shadowed by his irritation towards Jon, whose face screamed shame.

I glanced between the two of them, unsure of how to respond at first. Finally, I cleared my throat, “Look, you two are adults and you’re allowed to be pissed off at each other, but if  _ I _ could hear you from storage,” I had no idea how to follow up with that but my point was clear enough.

I had no idea what I walked into, because I wasn’t present for any of the arguments prior to the interruption nor during the immediate aftermath of the Prentiss attack. It sounded like Tim was accusing Jon of looking into his house, which could’ve been true, but it wasn’t my place to support or deny it.

I was so tired of disliking where I worked and I’d only been there for a week and a half.

Tim sighed, looking to the ground, and if Jon wasn’t already staring holes into the floor I wondered if he would’ve looked away too. “Sorry,” Tim said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Jon’s jaw was tense. I knew they would argue again later and I didn’t care, but my brain felt like it was being wrapped in barbed wire. If they argued again, they could do it in the privacy of an office or something similar.

I relaxed my shoulders, “Thank you, and, and I’m sorry too. For interrupting like that.”

Tim began to say something, but the echo of a panicked cry rang through the old walls and creaking floors. As he snapped his mouth shut, I turned to the door leading to storage, unsure if I’d heard what I thought I heard.

“ _ Ollie don’t touch that!” _

“ _ Mike, what the fuck?! _ ”

I pushed the slightly open door out of my way and descended the stairs in a manner that probably would’ve been described as recklessly lucky, this time having to hear Ollie and Mike argue about a book that had fallen. Soon enough, there were two pairs of footsteps that followed me as I jogged to where our sorting station had been set up. 

Statements were strewn about, some boxes were tipped onto their sides, while I found my two colleagues standing against the opposite wall, staring at a seemingly innocuous leather bound book that had fallen onto the floor, title side down.

“I was gone for like two minutes,” was the first thing I thought to say, which, in retrospect, was not a good first thing to say.

Mike ignored me anyway and grabbed Ollie’s hands, pushing up their sleeves, “Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry Ollie,” he spilled out apologies first as he examined their hands. They only stared at him in mild fear and confusion, and I understood why. Mike wasn’t exactly a monotone person, but I’d never known him to act or speak out of panic. 

“What’s wrong with that book?” Ollie asked, too shocked by his change in demeanor to respond in any other way.

Jon knelt down next to the book, trying to toe it over with his shoe to see the title, “It’s a-”

“Leitner, Ş̷̛̝͓̤͋͆͝C̶̡̗̹͎͉̏͐̇͗͘̕P̷̫̟͓͕̿͆̄̕-8952. It’s some kind of story about a field hospital during a wartime and it kills you if it cuts your skin, with an infection biologically impossible to kill you so fast-” Mike rattled off details about the book, letting Ollie’s hands fall to their sides only when he’s satisfied that they hadn’t been cut by it. I could hardly understand what he was saying, part from lacking some knowledge he had and part from his alarmed speech.

I jerked at a sound similar to a textbook landing on concrete, seeing that Jon had successfully knocked the book over onto its other side without using his hands. He looked up at us, “He’s correct. I don’t know what this ‘Ş̷̛̝͓̤͋͆͝C̶̡̗̹͎͉̏͐̇͗͘̕P̷̫̟͓͕̿͆̄̕’ thing is, but  _ The Tale of a Field Hospital _ , is undoubtedly a book from Jurgen Leitner’s library.”

Tim cursed under his breath, “How did it end up in here? I thought we had a special place for those,” he motioned for Jon to move away from the book, who didn’t need any more encouragement to do that.

And we stood there, watching a leather bound book like we expected it to grow legs and try to hack at our ankles with supernaturally sharp paper. But it remained still, didn’t grow teeth like some horrible textbook assigned by a magical school, and didn’t open up to reveal some kind of horrible demon face to raise the dead. The only sharpness in the room came from Mike as he tried to catch his breath.

The gears in my brain began to turn, finally jogging to life once the initial fear washed away with the comfort of seeing that everyone was alive. I nudged Mike, who jumped, but acknowledged me, nonetheless.

“Mike, what are you talking about?” I looked up to meet his eyes. His eyes were red, still coming down from terror as he stared back like he was waiting for me to do something.

“It’s, ah-. Hmm, I don’t know if I can-” his voice died as he shook his head.

Another tense pause wrapped around our throats like violent hands. There was a palpable desire to speak, to say anything to break the tension but none of us in that room knew how to do it. How to recover from what just happened.

Ollie cleared their throat, their voice soothing the train wreck piling up in my head, “You know what, after all that I think it’s time to take a break.” Jon opened his mouth, but they spoke over him. “All of us. Break time, and we  _ need _ to talk.”

“Elias isn’t here?” Jon muttered, head in his hands while he stared at the wooden table.

“No, the one fucking time he’s not here being creepy and useless. Note on his door says he’s got a meeting with a donor.” Tim announced.

We sat in the break room, all of us, sitting wherever we could, even on the counter like Ollie, who decided to start the conversation once we all had a moment to take a breath. Poor Martin was in the middle of making tea for everyone when we burst into the room, still addled with anxious energy, leaving him to sigh tiredly and ask if he should boil more water.

“Okay, generally I try to avoid conflict as much as I can, even if it’s breathing down my neck, but we cannot avoid this any longer. I’m just gonna start from the beginning on our end,” they started, hands folding in their lap. “We came here because the head of our archiving department at Winchester College said that Elias requested assistants for general backup work after several, quote, ‘disappeared on a trip to the countryside’. On our first day, I found a compiled tape of the events in a folded envelope down in storage, shoved away like it was hidden. I listened to some of it and left it on Cosme’s desk to listen to it. Are we all on track so far, have I forgotten anything?” They looked mostly at me; Mike, who had calmed down considerably since the storage incident; and Aidan, who was loath to be pulled away from his assignments but understood the gravity of the situation when we mentioned the CCTV footage.

We nodded, nothing sounded out of place- that was our story.

Ollie looked at Martin, Tim, and Jon, “Cosme and I were already aware that the story we were told about the assistants’ disappearances is bullshit. My only question to you people, so far, is this, did you know that we were being lied to?”

Surprisingly, all three of them denied that. I was hoping that maybe they secretly did, even if it would’ve made me angry. It would’ve been better than not knowing at all.

Tim eyed Jon, “Really? I thought Elias had no problem letting you in.” 

Jon’s nostrils flared like he wanted to snap a response, but it died under the sudden exhaustion in his eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, Tim, no, he  _ doesn’t _ tell me everything. All he said was that a few assistants from a sister school would be staying with us until we could gather our bearings and hire permanent replacements.”

While the look on his face didn’t budge any further from annoyance, he was satisfied with Jon’s answer.

Jon sighed, “Honestly, I was unaware that you all,” he gestured towards us, “Had no idea what happened until Tim informed me that Cosme had listened to the tape, and that the tape was missing.” 

“That’s what was missing?” Aidan asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, we were hoping to see if we could find out who was in the room around that time when we noticed it was gone.”

“What was on the tape?” Aidan asked.

A silence fell upon the room, leaving Aidan and Mike questioning and demanding to know. It wasn’t that we wanted to withhold the information, but I didn’t know how to summarize it in a reasonable amount of time.

Thankfully though, Jon, Martin, and Tim explained the events, albeit with Jon and Tim bickering throughout. But it would suffice, because Aidan stared at the table for a few moments afterwards, hands covering his mouth like he was going to have a similar reaction to my own. Mike cleared his throat, a sweat formed on his brow as he slowly nodded to indicate his attention. He stated that the situation reminded him of something he heard of before, but only in rumors from the more active wings of the facility he worked in previously.

I clenched my hands into fists, afraid that I was falling in and out of conscious existence. I wasn’t afraid that I would pass out, but I knew that I was really good at floating away in times of stress.

I took a breath in, and exhaled, my fingers pressing against the bolts that kept the table leg attached to the wooden table in front of me.

“I suppose it’s a good thing Lizzie left before she got the chance to see the tunnels,” Aidan brought a hand down his face, “And I guess, that you talked me out of it, Ollie. Thanks.”

The look of alarm on three of the faces in the room was immediately assuaged by vehemently stating that no one from our team managed to get down there. Even if the only remains of the infestation were carcasses, it was comforting to know that Lizzie didn’t accidentally just take a plague of bad things to the United States. There was enough there already.

Ollie nodded, “It’s cool. Although I guess that poses another question,” they paused and met eyes with Mike, who immediately sagged in his chair. “I don’t know exactly what I should ask so I’m gonna start with the first thing that comes to mind. What is ‘SCP’?”

He plucked his glasses from his face and began to clean the lenses with the edge of his shirt, but his eyes remained on the table in front of him. His expression was pensive, like he was trying to find somewhere to start.

He put on his glasses and sat upright in his chair, “It’s a bit hard to describe, but I’ll do it the best I can. The SCP Foundation is a top-secret organization that specializes in anomalous phenomena requiring ‘special containment procedures’ hence the name, ‘S-C-P’.” Ollie was already finger-signing the letters to me even though I’d heard him pretty clearly once we were no longer in the storage room. 

“While sometimes the anomalies aren’t at all threatening, there are some that pose a pretty nasty threat to humanity, physical and-or psychological. I’ve seen anomalies that were innocent, and even beautiful, like sentient paper dragons that move with music, to,” he paused, the look in his eyes telling us everything we needed to know. “Well, there are some things like that book, the Leitner down in storage.”

“How did the Foundation get a Leitner?” Martin asked, leaning forward on the table with his arms folded. 

Mike shrugged, “I have no idea. It was there when I started working at the Foundation- ah, this was over a decade ago. I was essentially a librarian, or I suppose one of the archivists. We handled strange texts specifically since most of us who worked in the ‘Library’ as it was called, didn’t have any military experience to handle the more, um, active SCPs. My only guess is that the book ended up here one way or another after the breach.”

My eyes widened, “Breach?”

He nodded solemnly, “Yes, there was a containment breach. I,” he took a deep breath like he was desperately trying to keep it together. He tried again, “That book in there wasn’t the only book we had from the library of Jurgen Leitner. Those nasty books needed  _ very _ special containment procedures. At least the field hospital one could be handled with good, reliable equipment. We had only one other that didn’t have a title that, back in the nineties, made everyone in a small town rip each other to shreds. Christ, all of the pages were blank, but apparently it made people just,” he took another deep breath, slow and careful. “I believe that’s what caused the breach. Either our precautions weren’t good enough anymore, or someone slipped up. I was lucky enough to have been in my supervisor’s office, being reprimanded for punctuality when the initial violence overtook the Library.”

Jon nodded slowly, “From what we can tell so far, Leitners seem to have wills of their own.”

I shifted in my seat, completely baffled by what I’d just heard. I knew that Mike didn’t enjoy talking about his last job, but I never would’ve guessed that it was something of that magnitude. It scared the shit out of me. What if something like that happened in the archives?

Mike laughed, but it was humorless, bitter, “Yeah, and I don’t think I was supposed to make it out alive. While I’m sure some survivors, er, would-be survivors, were completely fine, it didn’t matter to the grunts who were sent in. Maybe that’s cruel. But, to cut the risk of a true Code White, or a breach that results in SCPs making it to the surface in any capacity -physical or by word of mouth- any survivor exposed to anything for forty-eight hours was to be neutralized.”

“But, you got out.” I said. The glassy look in his eyes faded for a moment as he met my gaze, and he nodded.

“Yeah, I got out. And I got a normal job, doing normal things until I came  _ here _ , and saw a fucking SCP in the storage room.”

We were quiet again, processing everything Mike had told us. I was curled up in my chair, bringing my knees close to me, the closest to a fetal position that I could be allowed for the time being.

Tim was the one to break the silence eventually, his voice low but determined. “Is it possible that the Foundation will get involved here?”

Mike shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe? But I haven’t been involved for nearly fifteen years. The Foundation  _ did _ have allied organizations, if those organizations had similar missions.”

Aidan, who had been silently listening for most of that time, looked up from the table. “Tim, earlier you mentioned that Elias was meeting a donor. Do any of you have access to a list of donors for the institute?”

Jon rubbed his forehead, “I think I might know how to obtain one. Why? Do you think the Institute is connected to it?”

Aidan shrugged, “Who knows? But given Mike’s tale of barely getting out with his life, it makes me wonder if the Foundation assisted in any way with the cover-up story we were told.”

Mike shook his head a sudden look of panic flashing in his eyes, “What? No, Aidan, you don’t know how guarded the Foundation is about this stuff. Even if you get something from them, there’s no guarantee you’ll live long enough to see it.”

Aidan held up his hands in defense, “I won’t mess with the Foundation itself, you’ve made your point clear on that. But at least if we can find something that ties the Institute to it, then at least our friends here might have some leverage. I don’t know what exactly it might accomplish, but maybe you could at least get better pay or  _ something _ for working in hazardous conditions. Or, even better, those assistants who  _ fucking died _ could be recognized and their families given closure.” For someone who talked like a walking shit post for most of his life, Aidan could be surprisingly eloquent when the situation called for it. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard him speak with such gravity before; that took place a month after I first met him and he went on his soapbox about accessibility to computer science education.

Martin nodded, “You’re right. I mean, if that were me, I would want someone to know too.” Given what I knew about his experience with Prentiss, I had no problem understanding why. He followed up with, “It won’t be easy; Elias is a very private person. He doesn’t even like it when his office door is left open and he’s in it.”

The smile on Aidan’s face was familiar, “I got a hold of the footage, didn’t I?”

Jon narrowed his eyes, “Footage?”

Ollie sighed, “Yeah, when the tape went missing, we -and by we, I mean Aidan- acquired the CCTV thing with some help. To see if maybe we could figure out who was in the room at the time.”

“Oh god, you don’t think  _ I _ did it, did you?” Jon scowled, and it was a scowl that was mirrored in Tim’s face who started to call out Jon’s own suspicious behavior.

Ollie held their hands up immediately, high in the air, “I am calling a moratorium on accusations of  _ anything _ until we get this discussion sorted out,” though it wasn’t a shout, their authoritative tone silenced everything. They took a deep breath, “And it wasn’t an assumption of theft. We were even considering if someone might have accidentally picked it up when we saw who was in the room during those time stamps.”

“Who was it?” Jon asked quietly.

Tim pursed his lips, and Martin cast his gaze downwards. I looked between the two of them, at first thinking that maybe it would be best to let them hash it out since Sasha was their coworker. But as the pause threatened to drag on to something longer, I spoke up.

“Sasha was on the footage, so it’s possible she might have mistaken it for something else.” I picked my words carefully, sensing that it was a delicate topic. 

“Okay,” Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Should I approach her about it?”

“No,” Tim snapped, but then took a breath. “I’ll try to ask her tomorrow. She’s, she’s been pretty avoidant lately.”

Jon’s eyes widened by a fraction, like he was suddenly aware of something. He’d given me that look when I spoke to him in his office about workplace accommodations, like a tiny ‘ah-ha’ moment of realization. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, fingers covering his mouth like he was worried he would say something.

Ollie hopped off the counter, stretching their arms above them, “Alright, now I don’t know about you guys but I’m fucking tired.”

“Yeah, same.” Mike mumbled from where his head rested on the table.

There were various agreements murmured around the room as we slowly disbanded from the table. It was agreed upon that we weren’t going to get much further than that for the day, and by God did everyone want to be done with the day. Even Jon, who was generally a stickler for regulation, didn’t fault us for wanting to leave early.

Mike, Aidan, and Ollie were waiting outside of the institute, because I’d forgotten my headphones in storage. 

I stared at the door in contempt, annoyed at the mere existence of fluorescent lights and electrical work that hummed so loud I couldn’t think straight. It wasn’t even that it hurt, or that I had to do anything down there other than grab my headphones, I just wanted a moment to be a baby about it and internally complain. I could only complain about capitalism or corrupt leadership so much before I would feel like a broken record.

Descending the stairs, I was greeted by the remnants of the mess we’d made earlier, and Martin, trying to set the statements straight.

I raised my eyebrows and cleared my throat to announce my presence. I immediately felt bad though, because I startled him; he spun around on his heel, face red. So were his eyes.

He took a breath of relief, “Sorry, didn’t hear you coming down.” His voice was slightly shaken, but my presence seemed to have inspired him to grasp for composure.

I shook my head, “I feel like I should apologize for startling you, it’s okay dude. I left my headphones down here. Did you see them?”

He gestured to a filing cabinet across from him, where they were rolled up with care. “I figured those were yours,” he said with a small laugh.

I signed a ‘thank you’ out of habit and was about to wish him goodnight when I stopped. Perhaps it was a weird thing, and I didn’t know how to express it without coming off weird. But Martin was an understanding person, so maybe it wouldn’t be weird to him.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked up at me from where he sat, like he wasn’t expecting me to ask him that. It took a few seconds to realize that I was serious, and he nodded, “Yeah. Well, as fine as I can be given the circumstances, but I’m alright.”

I nodded, ready to believe him at face-value. “It’s okay to not be, today was rough,” I added with a small shrug.

He spoke slowly, “I don’t think I can be, erm, not okay, at least for the moment.” 

I understood what he meant, and his posture looked very guarded, like he wouldn’t want to talk about feelings specifically. “That’s fair,” I said, “And thanks for looking for these, I really appreciate it.”

He gave a smile, more genuine that time, and we wished each other a goodnight before I ascended the stairs. I was happy that the book had a cardboard box on top of it for the time being, to prevent any accidents.

On my way out, I passed Jon’s office and heard his voice. I sighed, wondering why he was recording a statement right then, and knocked on the door. Sometimes he could be convinced to go home and sleep if he saw that everyone else was leaving.

I heard him clear his throat and state that I could enter.

I opened the door, to see Jon and Tim sitting in the office. They both looked rather uncomfortable, but not hostile towards each other, which was more comforting than it should have been.

I gave a smile to them both, “Goodnight, see you guys tomorrow.”

While a little embarrassed that I’d interrupted a discussion  _ again _ as I unwound my headphones, I could’ve sworn I heard two apologies. One from Jon’s voice, and the other from Tim’s. 

“You ready, yet?” Ollie raised an eyebrow at me, “For a second, we were worried you’d been sucked into doing more work.”

I closed the doors behind me and felt my body sag a little, like all of the tension from work left the moment I walked out of the building. “Forgot these,” I said, pointing to my headphones.

Aidan hummed, “I think I’m gonna video call Lizzie tonight. Or, at least see if we can connect in some secure way.”

“Can I join? I miss the Captain.” I said.

He shrugged, “I imagined we all would. I had a few things I wanted to ask her.”

I frowned as the three of them began talking, their voices and conversation fading into meaningless tones as a prickling feeling settled atop my head. There was something I was forgetting. I had my phone, my wallet, my keys, definitely the headphones, so I was fine there. Was I forgetting something that needed to be done at work? Or was I forgetting something that someone told me? 

I was aggressively pulled away from my mental checklist by Aidan and Ollie slinging their arms over my shoulders, asking me about my opinions on spinach fettuccine as though I had been paying attention to the conversation. When did we get to pasta? How did we get from video chatting Lizzie to the very opinionated discussion of the appropriate pasta for an alfredo sauce? 

As we went home, the sun began to set. It had rained but only for an hour right before we left, looming clouds overhead still covering much of the sky. The light pushing from a very stubborn sun was a dulled orange, like the sky was smoldering. 


	7. i think it’s unbelievable how you give into the hands of fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from No Easy Way Out by The Protomen (it's a cover and its the superior version)  
> Alright, so a heads up for this chapter-  
> Dissociative/Depersonalization episode towards the end of the chapter, involving a mirror (more in ending chapter notes)  
> Descriptions of blood and injury (related to self-harm but leaning more on the accidental side than with the intention to hurt oneself)  
> Mentions of season 2 canon-typical Jon jackassery -also give Tim the support he needs(specifically mentioning the stalking, it's not a lot but I figured it's better to be safe than sorry)  
> Jon's guilt about Helen  
> Oh, this is a big one - Cosme's internalized hatred about their mental health stuff  
> Arguments

“Mike, when was the last time you’ve been on a video call with someone?”

“Oh my god, Aidan shut up, it doesn’t matter.”

“Look at him, he’s got that glint in his glasses like some kind of anime supervillain!”

_“I hate to agree with him, Mike, but he’s got a point. You look really creepy at that angle.”_

“Aidan, you had to ask me how to fax something to someone.”

“Because no one uses them anymore! We have the internet for a reason!”

I was glad that not much had changed since Lizzie went back to the United States, at least in terms of how we all interacted with each other.

Ollie rolled their eyes, “If we could continue, please, we wanted to do some catching up.”

Lizzie tilted her head, though part of her forehead was obscured by the top edge of the screen and gave us a questioning look. “ _It’s been less than a week, but sure?”_

I pushed my face into the small opening between Ollie and Aidan, trying to see if the Captain was on screen. I missed him so much. Living with Lizzie had spoiled me, since I couldn’t afford to keep a cat on my own, and the Captain was a very cuddly cat when he wasn’t being an agent of chaos.

Mike finally leaned into the frame a little more, the weird glint in his glasses disappearing once his face was properly visible on the screen. “How’s Winchester been? Has Fellows finally pulled an _Office Space_?” He ignored a small voice saying that no one would understand his old man movie reference, but I pinched the little gremlin so he’d be quiet.

Lizzie rolled her eyes, though the screen was so pixelated with her movement that we could only tell because it was a whole body motion for her. “ _No, but I’ve been gently peppering in the fact that we all deserve pay raises since the president of the college had his house renovated recently.”_

“It’s a slow process,” Mike hummed, “I can think of at least six other departments that needed the money more.”

From the screen, I saw the look on Ollie’s face as they remembered something, “How’d that date go?” They asked.

Lizzie grinned, “ _I may or may not have gotten her Instagram.”_

There was a collective ‘ _Oooh_ ’ from us, making her grin wider. She started to say something about having another video call with her new flirtatious friend later, when a familiar fluffy tail graced the screen.

I might have gasped more than was necessary, my face lighting up instantly at the presence of the good Captain. I immediately began to coo at the cat, who showed little to no recognition towards my voice- or at least didn’t care about it. He did, however, swish his tail in Lizzie’s face with an indignant and scratchy ‘ _mrow_ ’. 

Lizzie sighed and scratched the back of his head, “ _I see that I am not the guest of honor here_ ,” she said, raising her eyebrows at my reaction. She did, however, follow my lead and began to shower the Captain with affection.

“Hey, Liz,” Aidan addressed our friend, who looked up from the fluffy cat as though she’d forgotten we were on a call.

“ _Sup_?”

“I actually wanted to ask you about work-related stuff.” He continued when Lizzie nodded to show her attention, “What did the training entail when you went in early last week?”

She twisted her mouth to the side in thought, “ _It was a little weird, since the Institute does more creepy shit than we do. But it was mostly a lot of reading. Elias was telling me that I could use the skills I learned to be a Head Archivist here, but I don’t see how just reading statements and old books helped. Honestly, I think he just wanted to get rid of me because I was pestering and too curious.”_ She shrugged.

“ _Head Archivist_?” Mike’s eyes widened a bit, “Should we be worried about keeping our jobs?” He motioned towards me, and I remembered for a second that I in fact, was an Interim Archivist and enjoyed receiving a paycheck.

“ _I’ll make sure you don’t if I even get that kind of job. Oh! I forgot, Fellows might be getting transferred to a different school.”_

Ollie frowned, “Why?”

_“Beats me, for as many people we have in the field who could use the job, they seem to be really low on admins.”_

“That’s weird, I thought he was really attached to the school,” I supplemented, now fully paying attention to the conversation and not just the Captain.

“ _That’s what I said! Allegedly it’s a school on the West coast so I think he’s excited or something. I think they’re still looking for a replacement, but I kind of wonder if they’ll let me apply to his position and just let you guys stay as interims.”_ She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, “ _What about you guys? How’s the institute?”_

Aidan picked up the conversation where the rest of us faltered, sharing only some of what happened lately, which involved almost nothing of what we’d had to deal with. Mostly he shared some of the statements he did data collection for, like the statement of an urban explorer whose friend was killed by shadows. 

“Ugh, and there wasn’t really any useful information to get on it other than a police report but like, what good are they for?”

Lizzie shuddered, “ _God, I’m so glad I didn’t go exploring any of the old shit in London, I probably would’ve been obliterated by ghosts or demons.”_

Ollie nodded emphatically, “Yeah man, who knows what’s in those places?”

_“You guys know there’s weird shit under the Institute, right?”_

I groaned before I could think not to, “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that, I don’t want to get haunted.” I hoped that my attempt at a save didn’t look like it was forced, but I had no idea how to not be blunt.

_“I mean, I don’t think it’s haunted -probably- but it looked really creepy.”_

“Wait, you went down there?” Aidan’s alarmed tone shocked her, but she shook her head.

“ _No, I only opened the door to take a peek but I was too scared to actually go in.”_

I kept my relieved sigh quiet, glad that only my face was visible on screen even with the tense expression. Aidan continued the questions, but I found myself spacing out more. My meds had started to wear off at that point. Paying attention to anything, no matter how desperately I wanted to, was taking way more effort than I had the capacity to put in for long. 

So I found myself watching Lizzie, but not processing much beyond her sleepy appearance. I noticed that she had bags under her eyes, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but I’d never seen them so dark before.

I was yanked back into present reality when Lizzie spoke again.

_“If I tell you, do you promise to not get into trouble?”_

Aidan shrugged, “Only good trouble, promise.”

_“I guess that’s the best I’m gonna get out of you. No, Elias didn’t tell me about the tunnels. I actually found them by accident, and he caught me. It wasn’t that bad though, because he said that he was still going to offer the archival training. There’s a door- oh, fuck.”_

The Captain decided at that moment that he wanted more attention and began to walk on her keyboard. As Lizzie chastised the cat and tried to pick him up though, the Captain kept worming out of her grasp only to press in more random characters into the chat and change video settings.

With a flash on the screen and a glimpse of fur, the filter on Lizzie’s end changed to some kind of cartoon background I couldn’t identify.

 _“Oh my god! Okay, I’m gonna call you guys later and deal with this tiny bastard.”_ And before we could convince her otherwise, she dropped the call, her voice ringing out in her bedroom as she battled a tiny feline.

Mike sighed softly, “Well, that went pretty well.”

Aidan groaned and wiped a hand down his face, “Elias might just be a prick, but probably not an evil monster.”

“Okay, I’m gonna make something for dinner if you guys are interested in some pasta,” Ollie stood, stretching their arms to the sky as they walked to the kitchen.

I stood from my crouching position, wincing as at least four joints popped with my movement. I found myself thinking about the morning Lizzie left for home and realized that she must have been trying to talk about something with me, but I was too tired to register much. “Hey Aidan, what service was that?”

“Huh?”

“The, the video thing. It’s not Skype or Google, what is it?”

He grinned, “That service I recommended for texting also has a desktop app that you can use for video calling, so it’s totally secure. Want help installing it on your laptop?”

I nodded, “A little later though, it’s so slow with the start-up, I’d rather not fuck with it until I have to.”

“Do you have a lot of apps opening at start-up?” When I nodded, he shrugged, “If you’d like, I can help with that. Those can really slow down your computer by running in the background, even if you don’t use them at all.”

“I figured there was a way to fix that, I just haven’t gotten around to learning how to do it.”

Ollie poked their head out into the dining room where we were sitting, “Isn’t your uncle a tech guy?” 

I sighed, letting my head fall back as I leaned against a wall, “Yeah, he just never had the patience to explain it to me in a way that made sense. I think he kind of gave up when I didn’t pick up on HTML immediately.”

“Okay, well that’s dumb, also go get your computer,” Aidan pointed to my bag sitting next to the front door, “You’re gonna learn things today.”

We passed the time like that for about two hours, Ollie eventually heading to the bedroom to deal with a headache after dinner, and Mike sitting in the living room reading a book.

After learning more things than I assumed myself to be capable of learning and a delightful bowl of pasta and red sauce, I was able to take better care of my computer than previously. Aidan was utterly appalled that the most I knew about device care for a laptop was ‘Ctrl-Alt-Delete’ and taught me how to disable apps from opening when it boots up. 

“Now, this means that if you open these later on, they’ll take a little time, but it won’t eat your memory as you’re doing other things. Uninstalling Skype already did a lot, but your computer is old so it probably won’t go much faster than this,” he had explained to me. As much as everyone pestered and teased him, he made it fairly easy to understand what I was doing, instead of just telling me to do it.

I stared at my laptop screen, seeing the pre-loaded background of a scene in autumn, and nodded. There were a handful of things he did without really explaining, but I trusted him to not destroy my computer. I had no idea what a ‘VPN’ was, but he gave me his word that it wasn’t illegal. Probably. And, he did install the messenger service to the machine, so I could call Lizzie later. I could’ve messaged her on a regular app, but I wanted the added security. I felt awkward wanting to call her, even though we’d become pretty close in the time we lived together.

From behind us, I heard an exasperated sigh accompanied by what sounded like a small ‘ _Fuck_ ’. Aidan and I turned in our seats, to see Mike on the couch looking at his phone.

“Got an email,” he said quietly.

“Uh huh,” Aidan nodded slowly, “Glad you know how to open email on your phone- _ow!_ ”

I smacked his arm, realizing that Mike wasn’t using his usual joking tone, “What is it?” I asked.

He let his phone fall into his lap, the look on his face something of quiet terror- or maybe grim acceptance, “Elias says that a replacement has been found and that I can go home.”

It shouldn’t have felt so scary, that email. Going home shouldn’t be scary, but after the whole discussion that day, I found myself scared, worried that going back to the states would put him in danger, like he hadn’t lived there for his entire life after the breach. I wondered if Mike was as nervous as I was, or if he knew what to expect and how to handle it. I had no idea and found that I couldn’t offer any useful words of support while he stared at the wall in silence.

Ollie was sitting on the bed, under the covers and in their pajamas even though it was only eight in the evening. They looked up at me and gave a weak smile, “Sup?”

I shrugged, closing the door behind me, “Nothing much. You alright?”

They sighed softly, “Yeah. Just,” their voice trailed, “I dunno, I don’t feel good.”

“Would you prefer if I stayed or left?”

“I wouldn’t mind the company.”

I changed into my comfortable clothes, grateful to have no longer been wearing the slacks that I needed to poke a hole in my belt to keep wearing. I usually liked baggy clothing, but constantly fearing gravity’s effects wasn’t a fun time.

Instead of belly-flopping onto the bed as I normally did, I sat on the corner and leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees. Ollie looked up at me through their lashes, “I can hear your anxiety from over here,” they deadpanned.

I huffed a breath, “Sorry, was trying to keep it under control.”

“You and I both know that’s not how that works. What’s up?”

So I told them about Mike and the email he received, garnering an immediate reaction with raised eyebrows.

“Fuck, and then there were three, I guess,” Ollie rolled onto their back, hands folded across their ribcage as they stared at the ceiling.

“Oh my god, Lizzie and Mike aren’t gonna die.”

“I know, but, c’mon. After what we talked about today?” They hummed, their mouth twisting to the side, “No, maybe we _are_ getting too worried over this. It’s still fairly likely that Elias is just a bastard and the Institute is creepier than we thought. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the end of the world. Lizzie is home, and soon Mike will be. I’m sure after the end of the month, we’ll be back to normal.”

But I wasn’t sure if normal was still a good thing.

**CosmoCosma:** hey, just thought we’d let you guys know, but mike is being sent back home

 **MKBlackwood:** I’m assuming that’s not a good thing?

 **CosmoCosma:** honestly I don’t know? like, I know that it’s only because another replacement was found so he doesn’t have to stay but I’m still worried

 **MKBlackwood:** I don’t blame you, the discussion earlier was scary

 **TimIsStoked:** if it makes you feel any better, I highly doubt your school is into as much dangerous stuff as the Institute is

 **TimIsStoked:** he probably is safer there

 **OllieOof:** he’s right, Winchester looks like daycare in comparison

 **MKBlackwood:** Ideally, this will be the case for all of you

 **MKBlackwood:** I enjoy working with you all, but it’s ultimately safer if things go as originally planned, and you all go back

 **OllieOof:** no it’s okay martin I know it’s because we’re weird

 **TimIsStoked:** definitely

 **MKBlackwood:** That is exactly NOT what I said

 **CosmoCosma:** omg don’t tease him, ollie

 **MKBlackwood:** :c

 **CosmoCosma:** it’s because we’re smelly not weird

 **MKBlackwood:** >:c

 **TimIsStoked:** don’t let that face fool you, he’s trying to not smile

 **MKBlackwood:** Tim!

 **CosmoCosma:** woooow texting instead of talking to each other 

**OllieOof:** typical millennials…

 **CosmoCosma:** I bet you have avocado toast for breakfast every day

 **TimIsStoked:** avocados are delightful thank you very much

 **CosmoCosma:** actually yeah I can’t even joke about that, they are really tasty

 **OllieOof:** I can’t believe you like avocados but can’t do egg noodles

 **MKBlackwood:** You should’ve seen Tim’s Instagram before he deactivated it

 **CosmoCosma:** egg noodles are the texture of hell itself and I will not budge on this

 **TimIsStoked:** is it a crime, martin, that I enjoy posting pictures of the delightful food I got to eat when I went out more?

 **MKBlackwood:** Not at all, but it was very ‘typical millennial’

 **TimIsStoked:** you’re on thin ice, blackwood

 **OllieOof:** what made you deactivate?

 **TimIsStoked:** …

 **MKBlackwood:** It’s complicated

 **TimIsStoked:** complicated? our boss stalking us was complicated?

 **CosmoCosma:** YIKES

 **MKBlackwood:** Okay maybe not complicated in that sense, but we’ve talked to him and he said he wouldn’t do it again

 **MKBlackwood:** Do you believe he’ll do it again?

 **TimIsStoked:** no fucking clue, but I don’t really enjoy being accused of murder and attempted murder. no offense, martin, but you weren’t high on his suspects list. he didn’t take pictures of your house

 **CosmoCosma:** I’m sensing that there are some unaired grievances weighing you down

 **TimIsStoked:** ಠ_ಠ

 **CosmoCosma:** okay valid, I’m not saying you’re obligated to befriend him or that you’re overreacting

 **TimIsStoked:** it was really hurtful that someone I’d worked with for years suddenly thought I was a threat. sure maybe we weren’t close friends back in research but I thought we couldve at least made it work but no, he walled himself off and got so fucking suspicious

 **TimIsStoked:** like the rest of us weren’t in danger too

 **TimIsStoked:** like we aren’t STILL in danger

 **CosmoCosma:** well yeah, it’s painful that someone you have shared trauma with violated your boundaries

 **MKBlackwood:** Tim, if you’d like help talking to him about it I don’t mind

 **TimIsStoked:** dm me martin

 **CosmoCosma:** like I said, you don’t have to do anything and it’s not your responsibility to make him work through his trauma

 **CosmoCosma:** but if you want to discuss it with him, it might remind him that he isn’t the only one who is scared

“You’re not their therapist,” Ollie said as I let my phone fall to the bed.

I groaned, “I know, I know. It’s frustrating to see it from our end.”

“And I’m sure it’s more frustrating to be in it,” they eyed me as they began to brush their teeth.

I leaned back against my pillow, remembering the way they regarded each other in the tape. The only tension present was the threat itself, not the distrust. It was worrisome because it read like a Shakespearean tragedy, dramatic irony. 

Ollie emerged from the bathroom, wiping their mouth with the neckline of their nightshirt, “They have to make that decision on their own. I know it’s not easy seeing people hurt.” Their tone was soft and firm all at once. And they were right, I wasn’t a therapist, and even if I was, I couldn’t be _their_ therapist.

“I would’ve been a shitty therapist anyway,” I mumbled.

“You don’t need to be a therapist to help people, but you also have to let people work through their own shit. Being encouraging isn’t a bad thing though, I know you just want to help.” Ollie sat down on the bed and yawned, “I don’t think we can solve the murder mysteries though.”

I snorted, “You mean we can’t go on a wacky adventure to solve the murder of Gertrude Robinson and save the day?”

“Smartass.”

There was a beat, before I asked, “Ollie, should I have stayed with psychology?”

They raised their eyebrows at me, “Why? Do you want to be a therapist?”

I shook my head, “No, but, I dunno. I liked studying it back in school, but I don’t think I could work in the expected systems in the field.”

Ollie shrugged, the faded pink tips of their hair dripping water still. “Of the fields, I don’t think you made a mistake dropping that one. Besides, you liked working in the library, so it made sense to keep working on the history major. Do you regret your decision?”

I hugged my pillow into my chest, “No? It’s weird. Like, I wish I could’ve looked at myself at eighteen and say ‘Hey, you don’t want to pursue a career in psych, you just need to go to therapy’.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have learned all the cool stuff you did. Also I’m fairly certain psychology -to some extent- counts as a special interest for you. Just don’t be one of _those guys_ and act like you know everything there is to it.”

I grimaced, “Please call me out if I do.”

They grinned, “It is always my pleasure to dunk on you. Ready for bed?”

Mike went home the next Monday, and only when Aidan bullied him into making a messenger account did we hear him commit to calling or texting us to let us know he was alive. There also might have been a collective cheer when he said that the meeting went smoothly, albeit emotionless. Boring was good news. Boring was safe.

Though the night before he left was anything but boring, as he taught us how to make pierogies filled with potatoes, spinach, cheeses, and towards the end when the oil in the pan was changed out, fruits and jams. I definitely didn’t burn my mouth eating the first one. Aidan _certainly_ didn’t either.

“My grandfather taught me how to make these when I was little, but it wasn’t until my grandmother came to live with us that I got to make them regularly,” he said, with a small smile on his face. 

Ollie had better luck with the challah bread than the pierogies, and almost cried when they tasted the first thing they had a chance to bake in years. Most of their baking experience revolved around something more like a peasant loaf that had to be eaten with a soup or stew if desired to be consumed more than a day after its creation.

Monday morning wasn’t great, but it was as easy as the last. Like how last Monday I had leftover curry for breakfast before my meds kicked in, that Monday I had toasted challah with the leftover fruit from the sweet pierogies. Ollie made coffee and Aidan was able to be dragged out of his room to at least make sure he was in the process of becoming a human for the day. The desire to crawl back into bed was strong, but I powered through it and found myself at the institute on time and trying to figure out the problem I was looking at.

I sighed as I stared at the statement in my hands, my brisk pace causing the old paper to wobble. There was something missing- a page of the statement but it was likely that given the disarray of the storage room after the Leitner incident, some statements got shuffled around. I made a note to myself to ask someone about the Leitners specifically, because I still wasn’t sure what that entailed and the idea of there being hundreds of them was a little worrying.

In my hand was a statement about a man stuck in a box in an airport for an odd amount of time, odd meaning that the time felt inside the box and outside the box were different. But, Mikaele Salesa was mentioned in the statement and I knew Jon was going on about him some time ago, so I had to find the missing sheet.

A door opening behind me caught my attention as I passed Jon’s office.

“Oh good, Jon I have a statement to hand over but I’ve gotta find the missing-” I turned on my heel to see that Jon’s office door was not open, nor was he present in the hallway. 

The door that had opened was off to the side of Jon’s, though I was certain that the only ones on that side of the hall was the one to his office, the break room across the way, and further down, Elias’s office. But also, it wasn’t the first time I’d totally ignored something by accident. In college one night, a classmate invited me out for drinks and I didn’t realize until he had reached out for my hand, that he intended for it to be a date. Despite my usual self-deprecating jokes, I wasn’t stupid- just not very attentive to things I deemed unimportant. And sometimes that included parts of my surroundings.

I shrugged, turning around and making my way to the assistants’ office to see if Martin had come across a loose page.

Martin, however, was just as busy as I was. It was a little infuriating how leaving early one day the week before put us in such a rush. I tried to remember that we were all kind of recovering from the very emotional discussion we had with Mike about his previous employment. But, Martin did assure me that he didn’t see any loose sheets that matched the description of the statement in my hands. 

“You know, Jon might have actually found it. You could always ask him,” Martin suggested, face somewhat flushed from his running around when I stopped him in his tracks.

“Oh, I suppose I could do that,” I mumbled to myself mostly, as Martin had already started rushing to finish his own tasks. I sighed softly, walking towards Jon’s office in hopes that maybe he was in a better mood that day. It didn’t matter if he was perpetually grumpy, that was fine, but I didn’t exactly enjoy having to deal with it. 

I felt a buzzing in my back pocket, and I pulled my phone out to see that Ollie had sent me a message with an attached picture. The notification before that informed me that I had been added to a group chat with someone named ‘Vang0Bang02’ and it didn’t take me long to guess that it was probably Aidan. I opened the message to see the photo-

“Generally, we ask that our employees stay off of cellular devices during work hours.”

I muttered a curse and felt my phone slip from my hands, unsure if I should be comforted by the fact that it landed on the wooden floor, screen side down.

I looked up, seeing Elias for the first time, face-to-face, since orientation day. The tips of my ears burned hot as I realized that I nearly ran into my boss, staring at my phone, and then swore in front of said boss.

The look in his eyes wasn’t necessarily disdainful or annoyed like I imagined how Jon would look if it were him who caught me, but rather faintly amused by my reaction.

“I uh, sorry. Sorry, Elias.” I said, straightening my posture.

He bent down to pick up my phone and for a moment I was terrified that he was going to see whatever dumb shit picture Ollie and Aidan were laughing over, but my screen was thankfully blank. He handed my phone over, his mostly greyed hair not moving beyond its plaster-like style. 

“Are you conducting follow up on a statement?” He asked.

“No, erm, well, mostly trying to find the rest of this one,” I read off the statement number to him, almost afraid to meet his scrutinizing gaze. “There’s a page missing and I wanted to find it before giving it to Jon to record.”

He made a thoughtful noise, “You know, I do believe it’s possible that he might have the missing page. There was quite a mess in the storage room when I arrived to finish my paperwork the other day, and as it got cleaned up I believe he might have grabbed it.”

I nodded, “Uh, thanks, Elias.”

He gave an emotionless smile, the equivalent to an affirming nod, as he began to walk away. I shoved my phone in my back pocket, feeling like my heartbeat found its way to my throat. 

“Oh, and Cosme?”

I turned to look at him, the rocks tumbling in my stomach.

His expression was difficult for me to read, but it was just as likely that there was no expression. He hummed, “I am a little too busy at the moment to fill out an official warning sheet, but I’m sure you were on your phone to sort out the statement. Please keep device usage in the archives limited to archival work.”

I nodded stiffly and watched as he rounded the corner. With him out of my sight, I exhaled slowly, feeling as though all of the muscles in my body had tensed at once.

“Got in trouble, did you-?”

“ _Jesus shitting Christ!_ ” I hissed, spinning around on my heel to see Tim standing there with a teasing grin. 

He bit down his laughter, “Did he catch you on your phone? Don’t worry, he’s caught me making a rather accurate imitation of him once and I haven’t gotten fired yet.”

I chuckled, the fear in my body leaking out steadily as I relaxed more. “Yeah, I was sent a message from Ollie and Aidan and started to check it. Thank god it landed face down,” I rubbed a hand down my face. “What are you doing over here?”

Tim sobered up for a second, “Have to ask Jon about a statement, you?”

“Similar, handing one over to him. Should I give you two some privacy?” I grimaced at how that sounded once the words left me, “Wait, no-”

He shook his head minutely, “Don’t worry about it. I might actually hang back and ask him later.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. To say things were tense around him and Jon was an understatement, though it was a different kind of tension recently. At first, I worried that they were going to brawl, but since Thursday it felt more frustrated- like they wanted to say something but the courage kept fleeing when the opportunity arose. It was becoming pretty uncomfortable to be in the same room as the both of them.

And probably uncomfortable for them too, I reminded myself. Dwelling on it wouldn’t solve anything.

I gave a thumbs up and waved as Tim went on about his business.

I looked at the door to my side, and once certain that it was Jon’s office and not someone else’s, I knocked on the door.

“ _Come in_ ,” I heard, in what sounded like a tired tone.

I opened the door to see Jon sitting at his desk, the bags under his eyes more noticeable than usual. He looked directly at me, “Ah, can I help you?”

I held up the stapled papers in my hand, “Got a statement for you. It’s missing a page but Martin and Elias said you might have found it already.”

Jon picked up a stray sheet from his desk, “Yes, um, number ‘002202’?”

I nodded and handed over the rest of the statement to him, “Would’ve gotten it to you earlier, thought I actually heard you out in the hallway.” I said offhandedly, knowing that Jon didn’t make many attempts of small talk at work.

He cocked his head to the side, “I haven’t left my office at all this morning.” When he said it though, there was a vague recognition with a grimace that it wasn’t very normal to stay holed up in an office all day.

“I figured, probably confused someone going into the office next door for you.”

Jon’s frown deepened, “Cosme, there isn’t an office other than mine on this side.”

I mirrored his expression and opened my mouth to say otherwise but he shook his head and stood abruptly from his seat. For a second, I thought that I might have been in trouble no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

“Jon, what-?”

I followed him out of his office, beginning to feel concerned as I watched him intensely stare at the surrounding walls around the door to his office. Nothing seemed out of place, in fact the wall looked as it normally did, with plenty of space between Jon’s office and other entrances to parts of the building on either side.

There wasn’t another door.

“Cosme,” Jon looked to me, catching my attention before speaking, his voice low and serious. “What did the door look like?”

I sputtered, trying to remember exact details, but they were fuzzy at best. The best description I could settle for, was that it looked like a regular door, like any other in the building but it was cracked open.

He took a slow breath, lips pursed in what I could only describe as a fearful gaze. Finally, he turned to look at me, “Cosme, no matter what, if you see a door and are unsure of what room it goes to, do not open it.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice, I’d been there long enough to just roll with whatever safety precautions needed to be in place. I nodded in understanding, “Okay, I won’t. But I’d really like a little more explanation than that.”

Jon huffed, but took a moment to think, “I don’t know how to explain it in simple terms-” 

A flash of embarrassment and anger flared before I could stop myself, “I am _not_ stupid, Jon.”

“Sorry! Sorry, no, not like that- I mean, I don’t think I _can_ explain it better.” He removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, “There’s a statement about this,” he mumbled, “If you go in, there’s no telling if you can ever get out. I,” he gulped, “I watched someone go in and never come out again.” The guilt was so thick in his voice it could be wrung out like a soaked rag. “Her name is- um, _was_ Helen Richardson.”

I nodded slowly, “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I said softly. What else could be said to that? 

“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” his voice was quick, tinged with bitterness. “Nothing but stay alert of our surroundings. Thank you for the statement, Cosme. I won’t take any more of your time.”

I couldn’t even formulate the idea to tell him to stop before he brushed past me and into his office, closing the door behind him.

I ran a hand through my hair and walked back to the assistants’ office to finish the rest of my assignments for the day. His reaction wasn’t much of a surprise by that point, but I still wanted to remind him that he was human. He couldn’t know every little thing, and even if he did, it wasn’t fair to himself to hold that burden of responsibility.

A wave of exhaustion smacked me in the face as the workday began to wrap up. I’d completed the most pressing tasks and found myself getting lost in doing more so I could have a buffer in case I fell behind again.

But I was tired and felt myself nodding off at my desk while trying to read someone’s description of the dark.

I shot upward in my seat as my forehead nearly fell forward into my desk.

Thankful that no one was in the office to see me almost pass out where I was sitting, I sighed and held my head in my hands. Why did my head feel so fuzzy? 

My body felt disconnected from my mind, and I realized for a brief second why that was a problem. Of course I was feeling that way, the last few days had been more than stressful and I had really fallen behind on the basics of self-care.

I stared at the items on my desk, some folders, a tape recorder, my water bottle, but none of those things really brought me to the present moment.

Humming softly to myself, I stood and made my way to the bathroom. Remembering old things that old therapists taught me was difficult, but one thing I did think of clearly, was adding a sensation. I didn’t have any rubber bands nearby, and I didn’t have any of my normal stimulation devices on this continent, so cold water would have to do.

The soft yellow lights of the bathroom were surprisingly grounding and I was vaguely pleased to see that I was the only one inside. Intentionally not looking into the mirror, I pulled out a few paper towels to set near the sink and turned on the water. It never came out warm, always ice cold because of the old pipes I assumed, and I splashed some onto my face.

It was actually very uncomfortable how cold the water was, but it was fine. Uncomfortable meant that I was still attached to the planet. I hadn’t floated off into nonexistence like I used to so much when I was a child. Pain meant that I existed. That I was alive. It was fine.

With the skin of my cheeks beginning to sting and the frigid water trailing lines down my neck, causing me to shiver, I began to feel more alive.

I turned off the water and began to dry my face, the towels feeling almost pleasantly warm. I wiped the water from my neck, my cheeks and nose, my temples, and then my eyes-

I expected to see myself in the mirror, no matter how hard I would try to not look into one when I was in a state like that. Greenish-grey eyes, pasty skin turned splotchy from the ice water, light brown hair that was still recovering from the sheer number of times I’d bleached it. But I didn’t see my face.

Wild and curly blonde hair, a sick grin that shouldn’t fit on its face, painful eyes and teeth _and_ **_w̴̪̒h̶͕̫͛̆y̸͔͘ ̷̹̚d̴̬̾̈́͜î̴̝̳ḏ̶͌ ̵̼̦̏̔i̴̞̱͑t̶̼͓̋ ̷̪̱̂̐l̷̡̻̎̔o̵̜͛ͅŏ̸̹̻̒ǩ̸͉̻͛ ̸̥͌ẉ̷̺r̶̝͈̊ō̸̮̖͊n̸̲͋g̵̩̒͠ ̴͕̰͐͝w̸͈̾ḫ̵̄͒y̶̞͒̃ ̴̡͉͌̎i̸̪̳͋̈s̵̠̓̅ ̷̹͛i̸̛̼ṯ̷̎ ̵̥̌l̴̞̅̊͜o̸͍͇͂̓o̸͙̍̽k̶̨̺̑i̴̗̙͂ṋ̵̯͛̓g̴̙̎̌ ̷̙̝͗a̸̞̍t̸͈̣͆͆ ̷͔̞̈́͝m̸͖͚̿e̷̡͆̎ ̶̞͌t̷̪̙͠h̸̘̤̉ă̵̙ț̷̰̓̃ ̶̰͐i̶͈̔̚s̵̞̓ͅn̷̙̙̓’̵̱̜̊t̴̜̜͋ ̵̛͈̳̋m̸̹̿e̷͙͙͛̽ ̵̦̰͝t̵͕̓ḩ̶͖̾a̵̢̪̍t̵̩͠ ̴̲̙i̴̝̻͂̕s̷̻̰͛ń̵̙̫’̶̢͕̈t̵̻̐ ̵̧̤͒m̴̛̭̅e̸̩̭̔-̴̗̤͒͝_ **

It took pain blooming across my knuckles and the sound of glass shards falling to the tiled floor for me to see that I had punched the mirror in front of me.

I choked on a breath as the shock of the pain caught me, blood already dripping down my fingers and onto the ground, staining the yellow stitching of my boots and my eyes fixated on the two shards of mirror embedded in between my knuckles. I didn’t notice that someone was calling out through what sounded like water, knocking on the bathroom door in a quick burst of not-quite-heavy taps.

Finally the bathroom door opened, and I peeled my stare off of the floor to see Martin’s horrified expression.

“Oh my god, are you okay- wait, no, that’s stupid. I um, just- just stay there, I’ll go get the first-aid kit.”

“Can,” I couldn’t speak, and my hand hurt too much to try to sign.

He watched me for a second, “Um, do you want me to get someone?”

I nodded fervently, and then again when he asked if he should get Ollie.

“Ow, _fuck_ ,” I hissed.

“Sorry, this might hurt more-” Martin stuttered.

I winced but kept my mouth shut, clenching my jaw as Martin plucked out the second and last shard of glass from between my knuckles. After insisting he was _not_ an expert, he managed to quickly remove the first piece of glass with little issue and after removing the last, guided me to the sink to clean my hand.

Ollie stayed next to my side the whole time, completely silent but their presence was comforting enough.

“So, I have to ask, what happened?” Martin began to dab a little antibiotic ointment onto the cuts along my knuckles. His voice was soft but insistent in a way that reminded me of doctors I’d met when I was very young; faintly, I wondered if he was used to that sort of thing.

My voice caught in my throat. How would I tell him that I would just kind of disappear mentally while growing up, causing me to freak out around mirrors at random times?

I ignored the voice in the back of my head, telling me that during those old times, I’d never seen an entirely _new_ face. 

“There was a face,” I said after a pause, deciding that honesty was probably the best choice for the time being. “I, I was washing my face and when I looked up, what I saw wasn’t me.”

Martin’s eyes widened, but only by a fraction. He nodded slowly, “That sounds absolutely terrifying,” he said quietly.

I snorted, “Yeah, no shit.”

I wanted to say that I’d had a similar problem in the past; not as bad but similar. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be called insane. I already had to ask for help about my hearing and about signing and understanding words; I didn’t want to be called ‘crazy’.

Ollie rested their hand on my shoulder and I met their eyes. It was obvious that they were worried, and they already knew. They were the one who helped me cover the mirrors during a Bad Time™ back in school, the first time since middle school that I dissociated so hard that my own face wasn’t recognizable. 

I looked down, feeling shame creep on my neck.

“I know he can be rather prickly, but, you might want to talk to Jon about it.” Martin suggested as he located a gauze roll from the box. I was a little surprised by how efficiently he handled the situation, given his usual work ethic. It wasn’t that he was bad, just forgetful, and I understood that.

“Hmm?”

He looked up for a brief second, “Oh, ah, well. What you described at first sounded like a mental health thing but seeing a completely different face doesn’t sound like that. When people have come in to give Jon a statement, they say they usually feel better after telling him about what happened.” His face flushed, as though he felt like he shouldn’t have said anything.

I nodded though, because maybe he was like me and didn’t know how to handle certain social situations. I bit back a grunt when he finished wrapping the gauze around my hand and fastened some kind of clip to keep it from moving.

“Um, again, I’m not an expert so you might want to go see if it needs stitches. Can’t really do that here,” he chuckled nervously.

I stared at my bandaged hand and then to him, “Thanks. It doesn’t surprise me that you have first aid training.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, like he didn’t expect me to take notice- but I didn’t taste the leather of my shoe just yet so I didn’t have the idea to stop talking.

“It’s just- you seem like the kind of person who’s a caretaker, even if it’s just with tea.” Ah yes, there it was; the recognition of my perpetual foot-in-mouth syndrome. I clamped my mouth shut once I realized that I was dangerously close to rambling.

Martin shrugged off my comment, “My um, my mum is ill, so it became something I had to learn.”

My eyes widened, “Shit, I’m sorry-”, but Martin was already shaking his head with a half-smile. I couldn’t tell if it was forced or not so I had to hope that he was being honest with me.

“No, it’s alright. Just, just think about talking to Jon. I’ll leave you two alone, now.”

In a flurry similar to how I’d seen him earlier that day, he packed up the first aid kit and scurried out of the bathroom. I sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of my nose but wincing- having already forgotten that I had pretty seriously injured my hand.

I looked up to Ollie, who had been uncharacteristically silent almost the entire time Martin was bandaging my hand. My first, gut thought was to ask if they were mad at me. But the look on their face wasn’t anger. I couldn’t tell what, but they weren’t angry with me.

Finally, they met my gaze, the bags under their eyes noticeable even in the yellow light of the bathroom. Their lip trembled, before pursing into a tight, thin line. 

They were worried.

“Ollie, I-” I didn’t know what to say to them, and we fell into an uncomfortable quiet for a long moment.

My aversion to mirrors wasn’t a new development. It turned out that when you repressed your trauma for years and years, it eventually would come back to haunt you. Floating into a dissociative episode wasn’t new for me; in fact, it was so common when I was a kid that it sparked the first discussion between my Aunt Julie and Uncle Ted to consider taking me to a therapist. I’d lost a lot of time to those episodes.

College was the first time in a long time that it came back, the feeling of not recognizing my own face in the mirror. I _knew_ it was me, unless the rules of physics decided to change on me since I’d last learned then, I knew that the reflection had to be my own. Ollie, who had roomed with me all four years, helped by covering our mirrors with jackets, extra blankets, whatever was on hand to hide the unfamiliarity; at least until I could calm down and come back to reality.

But I didn’t recognize my face. That was different than that moment, when I punched the mirror. That was not my face. I didn’t have inhumanly blue eyes, or curly, light blonde hair. I didn’t grin like that. That face was not mine.

Ollie sighed, their eyes falling to my hand in my lap, “What can I do?”

I frowned, “What?”

“I, I don’t know the last time this happened for you, but I know that stress triggers these kinds of things. Maybe listening to the tape did it, _I don’t know_ , Cosme. But I- I can help you talk to Elias or Jon, to see if you can be sent home early or if the process can be expedited or something.”

I found myself shaking my head furiously, “What? No. I, no, Ollie I don’t want to leave.”

They huffed a breath, like a disbelieving laugh, “’Course you don’t.”

“ _Hey,_ ” I countered.

“No, I just. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Ollie sighed, finally looking me in the eye. Were they crying? “You can’t just put yourself on the back burner like that. I know you want to help them, but this doesn’t concern us. We have to go home eventually. We can’t drop everything to help someone else if that means burning out.”

I nodded stiffly. My jaw was clenched, and _I couldn’t get the fucking words out_ . I wanted to float above my body just a little bit so I could grab myself by the shoulders and shake just a little- _just talk, you idiot! You have things to say so say them!_

“I’m, I’m gonna get ready to go home. I can wait up if you want to stay and talk to Jon.”

I nodded again.

Ollie kept their face and tone even, standing up to offer me a hand. I pulled myself up with their support, not following as they slowly turned and walked out of the bathroom, careful to not step on the glass that still littered the ground.

I didn’t go into Jon’s office to tell him about what I saw. Instead, I sent him an email about the mirror, informing him that if I needed to replace it that I could. I would’ve said that I was going to sweep up the glass, but when I approached the supply closet, Martin had already beaten me to the broom and dustpan. He also wouldn’t hear any of it when I offered to help him, insisting that I let my hand rest.

Eventually, I bumped into Jon as I was gathering my belongings to go home for the day.

I probably looked like a deer in the headlights too, because he looked equally as shocked as I was. 

I cleared my throat, having obtained the ability to use words once I was able to breathe easier, “I don’t know if you got the chance to read my email, but there was an accident-” I winced at how rough my voice sounded.

Jon was already nodding, “Yes, yes I read it. Martin also told me that you would probably want to give a statement?”

I shook my head. 

His eyes widened slightly, “Y-You don’t?”

“Not particularly.”

“But, but the mirror and the, the door-”

“Nope,” I interrupted him, a little harshly and he jumped. “I, sorry. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Look, I can’t tell you what to do. You’re an adult. But, ignoring the problem makes it worse in the long run.” He said cautiously. He averted his gaze to the floor for a moment, “You don’t have to give a statement but you should still talk about it.”

I took a breath, knowing he was right and knowing that I especially had one hell of a track record of ignoring problems only for them to blow up in my face later.

“Okay,” I said quietly, “Fine. I saw the door, earlier, told you about it. Had a dissociative episode and went to the bathroom to cool off. When I looked up from washing my face, I saw someone else. I panicked and punched the mirror.” Short and sweet. Well, not _sweet_ , as I rushed through it and found myself out of breath, the tiny prickling of panic beginning to seep into my skin.

Jon was taken aback, his expression changing from one of discomfort to concern. “What did t̵h̸e̷ ̷f̴a̸c̸e̵ look like?”

I had little issue understanding what he was asking with the help of reading his lips and the context clues. I described in detail the face I saw, and he sighed. I had forgotten the bags under his until my attention was brought to them, and I had the half-formed question in the back of my mind; did anyone here sleep well? 

“That was Michael. I don’t know what he is or what he wants, my best guess is that he just enjoys creating trouble in the archives. He’s connected with the door you saw earlier,” Jon’s voice was quiet, almost like he was afraid of ‘Michael’ hearing him.

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “God, that’s just fantastic.”

Jon eyed me, not the same sizing-up he’d done when we first met, but like he was looking for something in particular. There was a pause until he spoke slowly, “When you came into my office and asked what we were doing about the worms, I had an answer for that. I don’t know what we can do about Michael, but if you want to go back to the states, we can have that arranged. I don’t know how much that’ll do, but it’s still something.”

“I _do not_ want to leave,” I said, exasperated that I had to answer that again.

“Why?”

I didn’t know how to answer that. To a degree, yes, I wanted to leave. I wanted to run to the fucking hills and never look back, but something in me, a tiny voice, told me that I shouldn’t. I couldn’t leave. Not then.

“I don’t know. But,” I took a breath, unbelieving that I was about to say it, “Maybe I should leave. I don’t remember what the paperwork said about leaving early, but maybe something can be done.”

Jon acted like he was going to say something, but he dropped it. “You should go home, get some rest.”

I nodded slowly, looking up from the floor. “So, uh, you talked to Tim lately?”

He stuttered over his words like he didn’t think I would bring it up, which was probably fair but upholding social decorum was of no priority to me by that point. Finally, Jon settled on, “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” It had very little venom, but definitely annoyed at me.

I shrugged, “As long as you aren’t arguing in the middle of work, yes. They um, they told us about Gertrude.”

That stopped him cold, but he kept his expression frozen. Stiffly, he nodded, “I see.”

“I don’t know everything Jon, and neither does anyone else here. You also have to talk to someone.” I got a curt nod in response, and I accepted it.

I slung my bag over my shoulders, ready to walk out when Jon spoke out as I opened the door out of the break room.

“Normally people pay to listen to expert opinions on,” he snorted, removing his glasses to clean them on the hem of his sweater vest. 

I grinned like a smartass, “I won’t say no to a raise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cosme has a dissociative (?) episode that actually probably more closely matches a depersonalization experience right before they look into a mirror. The mirror isn't necessarily part of the episode; but I'm one to believe that the Spiral would probably enjoy Cosme as a lil fear snack because they've had such distressing mental health issues in the past.


	8. lately you've been searching for a darker place to hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from the song leave a light on by tom walker  
> holy shit holy shit we've got some trigger warnings in this chapter; and I would like to be clear: I wrote this chapter before episode 177 came out and I've not been listening to S5 specifically because I don't have the capacity to deal with two apocalypses right now. If any of these tags are a major trigger for you but you want to keep reading the story, comment that and I will put a summary in the ending chapter notes so you can be aware of major plot points with a minimized risk of being triggered (I'm serious guys, be gentle with yourself even if you decide to stop reading entirely; it's okay)  
> We've got:  
> -Disordered eating habits and diagnosed eating disorder (not quite a relapse for the character, but more closely related to his trauma regarding how he got treated for it)  
> -Psychiatric trauma (there's a proper word for it but it's not coming to mind- basically a character is traumatized from their time in a mental healthcare environment)  
> -To a degree, there is reference to involuntary hospitalization also fuck cops  
> -Implied homophobia (more than implied but it's not delved into)  
> -Elias's bullshit (the thing he did to Melanie and Martin? He did it here too, but it's not directly narrated)  
> -Fuck Elias  
> -NotSasha-related horror  
> -blackmail, essentially  
> -was there anything else? oh yea, fuck Elias

Thunder rumbled around me, the wind slowly beginning to catch up and rustling the trees and bushes. It wasn’t as aggressive as before; I’d missed the worst of the storm during the workday. All that was left were the remnants, pulling away from the sky slowly like a tattered stage curtain revealing the orange and pink sky way off in the distance.

I took a deep breath in, and let it slowly leave me.

There was no thunder aside from what played through my headphones- the world became too loud for a moment. It was almost incredible, how cathartic it was to listen to a storm rage on when I couldn’t figure out how to express my frustration otherwise.

Ollie was in the bedroom when I got home, and Aidan was on a video call with Gomez, talking about something I didn’t quite understand so I banished myself to the sort-of patio just outside the back door. I knew I needed to talk to Ollie, needed to clear the air, even if we were still pissed at each other. I couldn’t bring myself to move, though. 

I had my sketchbook out on my lap, charcoal pastels to my side, mostly forgotten as I shaded the picture I’d just finished. 

The crow that I was sketching sat on the brick wall above me, feathers highlighted warmly under the oncoming twilight. I looked up after a moment of shading and noticed that the crow had turned to its other side, revealing a previously injured and healed wing. I cocked my head to the side- surely, it was coincidence. London wasn’t the nicest habitat for birds, it was possible that many crows had scars.

The crow mirrored my head tilt, and I saw that it was missing a talon.

I smiled softly, wondering for a moment if showing my teeth would be considered aggressive, and realized that I knew very little about birds.

With a few cautious hops forward along the brick wall, the crow continued to watch my behavior, as though I were the bird and it were the human.

Beside me, was my plate from earlier. My appetite returned on the train ride home, and though I was too worked up to eat a full meal, I settled on an apple to eat while I sat outside. There was still a tiny bit of fruit left on the core, and I did remember hearing that apples were safe for birds to consume on a documentary.

With my nail, I carved out a fingernail-sized bit of apple and presented it to the crow.

It moved forward, almost bobbing like it was trying to go for a bite but didn’t know how to get it out of my hand. I made a tiny ‘ _ Oh! _ ’ and stood. 

The crow hopped backwards a few paces. That was okay, it probably didn’t understand what I was doing.

Carefully, I placed the piece of fruit on the top of the brick wall, about a foot away from the crow, and stepped back.

It hopped forward again and ate it without hesitation. 

I couldn’t help the soft laughter that came out of me, but the crow didn’t seem to mind.

“I wonder,” I thought out loud. “Well, I suppose you probably don’t have a name. Though, maybe you’re smooth enough to woo every tourist in London. I bet you have lots of names.”

As I stood next to the crow, I saw that its wing and missing talon weren’t the only signs of previous injuries. Its left eye was missing, something I didn’t notice because of its dark eyes and feathers.

“No offense, but how did you make it here this long?” I asked softly, almost expecting an answer from the corvid. The crow watched me, and I wondered if it was trying to understand me, “Hmm, maybe I should ask myself that first before expecting everyone else to tell me, huh?”

I hummed thoughtfully, “Are you Hugin or Munin? I guess they were ravens. Do you know the difference between a crow and a raven?” I asked, feeling a smile tug at my lips. I was talking to a  _ bird _ . Was I really craving interaction that badly?

The crow responded only with a head tilt.

I smirked, “I guess it doesn’t matter. If there’s only one of you, perhaps I should call you Odin. You are missing an eye, after all.”

I’d never heard a crow caw up close before, but I could tell that it wasn’t angry. At least, it didn’t look angry. But regardless of what emotion I was projecting onto the crow, it made a low caw, almost like it was trying to use its conversational volume.

“Odin, huh? You like that name? Seems fitting for a survivor, I’m kind of surprised I didn’t pick that name for myself. Though, I guess I didn’t think I was surviving when I picked my name.”

The crow hopped forward, like it was studying me. It probably wondered what I was doing, and why a human was trying so hard to speak to it. I wondered if many humans tried to befriend the crows in London. I wondered if many humans decided to talk about childhood trauma to birds.

“Mom and Dad didn’t let us have pets,” I admitted quietly, “Anton was so allergic to cats and dogs, but Leo and I weren’t. Leo would’ve loved to talk to crows,” I found myself trailing off, an image of the two boys in their pajamas as they argued about chess pieces coming to mind.

My ears began to ring, almost but not quite like tinnitus. I knew what tinnitus was like, had known since I was seven years old and found myself sitting on the curb across the street from my house as it illuminated the neighborhood in an angry, bright orange blaze.

I jolted as Odin cawed loudly, right next to me but not at me.

I turned around and felt my stomach flip into a pile of stones.

The door was bright yellow, surrounded by a trim that looked purple. I didn’t have to think very hard on what it was; the fact that I couldn’t look at the door for too long made it clear where it came from.

It popped open a few inches, creaking loudly. The door sounded like static, like a vibration within my body, like the blood rushing through my veins. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be hearing, out in the tiny garden of the share-house located in London of all places, but the door was louder than everything else.

“ _ Cosme? _ ”

I turned to the patio, where Ollie stood. They were watching me, not the door, but me with a concerned eye. 

I looked to where the door stood and of course, it was gone. Odin was gone too, probably had been for the last minute when the door appeared out of nowhere. Smart, because my first thought was to open it and see if Michael was inside.

“Are you okay?” Ollie spoke, their voice cutting through the bubble of silence in the middle of the city.

Meeting their gaze, I took a breath and nodded.

They stepped from the door, arms crossed as they approached me. It wasn’t exactly an aggressive or defensive position, but like they needed to hold themselves as they stepped off the patio. 

We stared at the sky for a moment, relaxed. All of the tension had bled out of my body, as though it decided that it had enough. No more, please.

“I didn’t mean to shut down,” I said.

“I’m sorry if I was condescending there,” they said at the same time.

I chuckled, “You go first.”

Ollie tore their gaze from the sky and met mine, “I probably could’ve been calmer back there, in that bathroom. You’d just dissociated in what I assume to be the first time in years and I shouldn’t have said those things.”

I shook my head, “No, they needed to be said. Maybe at a different time, but you’re still right. You’d just offered your help and I was kind of a shit about it. I didn’t mean to shut down.”

“Did you shut down, or were you having a hard time getting the words out?”

I pursed my lips, “I was trying to say things but they kept getting messy in my head.” I looked at my hand. Simple, careful motions while drawing were just barely not painful. In the interest of not hurting it more, drawing wasn’t the best restful activity but I had to do something with my hands.

Ollie nodded slowly, taking a deep breath, “It’s been a while since we’ve had to live together.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly, “Yeah, it has. Should, should we cover our boundaries again?” I asked.

They wrinkled their nose at the thought but hummed their agreement, “That might be best.”

We were quiet again, looking up at the sky as it slowly began to darken. From the corner of my eye, I watched them. It was strange, seeing their face basked in the evening glow and their eyes sad.

More than ten years had passed since I first met them, and they wore the same expression in that moment as they did back then when they sat next to me on the curb. 

“Did you talk to Jon?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t give a statement.”

“How come?”

“Didn’t want to. I know he likes having them recorded, but I hate the sound of my own voice and I know that if I hear it, I won’t have a good time.” It wasn’t deflection, but the truth. I didn’t like hearing my own voice. A sharp intake of breath startled me, even though it was my own.

Ollie looked at me, “What?”

“Ah, hmm. I don’t know how to word this,” I groaned, remembering that there was a whole door that just popped up in the garden.

“The suspense is killing me dude,” Ollie snorted, but I knew they were worried.

“You mentioning Jon reminded me, the face I saw in the mirror belonged to someone named Michael.”

“Is Michael dead?”

“I don’t know, neither does Jon. But, earlier today I saw a door that wasn’t there before,” I began to explain. Ollie listened intently as I described the events earlier in that day, their face turning to one of terror when I revealed that one was in the garden before they arrived. They opened their mouth to say something but opted to say nothing until I was done.

“Let’s uh, let’s go inside, huh?” They suggested. “We can make some tea, and if Aidan hasn’t eaten all of them, there might be some leftover pierogies.”

I hummed, food suddenly becoming very appealing in that moment, “Fuck yeah, tea  _ and _ pierogies? Living like a goddamn  _ king _ ,” I said, grinning as I got an amused snort out of Ollie as they followed me.

“No.”

“Yes?”

“ _ No _ .”

“ _ C’mooooooon _ ,” Aidan whined, falling to his knees and resting his chin on my desk.

“Sorry, the  _ Cyberpunk  _ campaign filled my fun quota for the month, you’ll have to wait for the paperwork to go through.” I said, struggling to keep my mouth in a straight line, lest my laughter encouraged his antics.

“Okay, but like, this is  _ different _ ,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were broken again, which meant that the night before was filled with a lot of swearing and distressed shrieking from his bedroom. He settled with a super glue-electrical tape combo that was certainly not going to last long. It would’ve looked nearly perfect, if he hadn’t used the highlighter-yellow electrical tape on his black framed glasses.

“How is a club scene any different?” I scoffed, “Drunken idiots, too many people touching me, and strobe lights? That sounds like a personal sensory overload hell.”

“It’s a smaller venue and of course Ollie is invited.”

“Smaller? Doesn’t that mean everyone’s gonna see me awkwardly standing in a corner?”

Aidan groaned, and to say it was dramatic would’ve been an understatement. He’d been trying to convince me to go to a club with him so he could see Gomez mixing music, and he was still so nervous to see him face-to-face by himself. At first I worried why, but Aidan assured me that it was his own anxiety and insecurity acting as the roadblock, not any perceived threat or worry about Gomez’s character.

I knew that I would bend eventually if he asked one more time, but it was fun to annoy Aidan, and if he got to make jokes about how I knew how to work a VCR better than my own laptop, then I would allow myself that.

Aidan started to come up with another reason why I should go, something about discovering new music, when Tim walked into the assistants’ office with an exhausted scowl.

“You good, bro?” Aidan asked, prompting a surprised hum from Tim when he noticed that Aidan was on the ground.

“Are you?” Tim countered, slightly amused.

I snorted, covering my mouth with the statement I had been trying to read before I was interrupted.

Aidan whipped his head around to glare at me, “So help me, every single angsty Facebook post you made in 2011 will be made public.” His frown turned into more of a Muppet frown when I dissolved into laughter, because Aidan was not even remotely threatening. Especially when I didn’t have a Facebook back then.

“That’s not a good way to convince me to go,” I said, steadying my voice so he’d understand what I was saying through the laughter.

Aidan opened his mouth to argue, when Tim interrupted. “Actually, Aidan, I think Elias wanted to meet with you about something.”

The blonde man sighed and narrowed his eyes, “What did he want?”

To that, Tim shrugged, “I don’t know, threatening coworkers might be a good guess to start with though.”

“All of you are terrible,” Aidan said as he pushed himself up to his feet. “Later losers, maybe I get to go back home.”

My chuckles died down as I fell back into a rhythm, declining Martin’s tea offer when he made it in after checking on an allegedly haunted daycare. It was nearing lunch time and Ollie wanted to order some pizza while we had intentional friend time that wasn’t tied in with work. We would still eat near the Institute though, because restaurants during lunch were exceptionally noisy. 

It didn’t take long for me to find myself wandering off task again. Even with the help of meds, it was still a practice to stay on topic instead of accidentally hyper-fixating on the history of old architecture in Europe when my original task was to read up on someone named Robert Smirke. That was another name that caught Jon’s attention, and sent him hurling on the tracks of wanting to know everything about Smirke. To a degree, he almost reminded me of Lizzie and her own need-to-know habits.

My headphones were off, but it wasn’t much of a problem in the office. I didn’t have much of a choice anyway, because keeping them on was beginning to make my ears sore. I thought they were properly fitting, but most people don’t wear headphones almost all day. __

There was a knock on the door, interrupting my groove as a head popped into the office.

She was around my height, with medium brown hair and an eyebrow piercing. The bottom layer of her hair was dyed dark purple, matching the laces of her high-top converse. She looked like the kind of person I would’ve been friends with during college.

“Ah, I think I misunderstood the n̷̳̭̝̈́͘̕e̵̡̞̭͗w̸̗̘̓ ̵̢̛͎̐ͅg̶̖͇̋̿ï̶͚̮̖ŗ̴͖͂͂l̸̠̉’s directions. I’m here to give a statement to Jon. Where is his office?” She asked. 

Tim looked up from his desk, “Oh, Melanie, was it?”

She nodded, “Hi. You’re… Martin?”

“Nope, Tim. Jon’s office is around the corner on the right.” He gave a half smile.

“Is he prickly again, today?” She crossed her arms, leaning against the frame of the door.

Tim pursed his lips into a tight line like he wanted to agree, “Only as much as he usually is, I think. Did you say, ‘new girl’?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

Melanie nodded, “Yeah, she was up front at um, Rosie’s desk and gave me directions. Anyway, I should get going and tell Jon what  _ spooky _ things I got to see.” There was a sarcastic tone to her voice, but I wondered how much of that was deflection. I’d only ever seen a handful of people come in to give a statement, but she was the only one to speak to us.

She was out the door before I’d considered that I probably should’ve introduced myself or said anything, really. I wondered who the new girl was. I turned to ask Tim, and he shrugged.

“We don’t have any new people working the reception desk. Though if Aidan is in a meeting with Elias, maybe we did get a new person.”

I nodded slowly, “How often do people come in to personally give a statement?”

He hummed thoughtfully, “Not often, though that changes during October and November. Sometimes during Christmas too, but more often than not, it’s because the person giving the statement was intoxicated one way or another.”

That was fair. Most of the time I regarded the statements I had to read as being a joke or someone imbibing a little more than they should have. The prospect that some things were real, like the angler fish statement or the one given personally about a man who ate his computer was just a little too much to deal with. 

I hissed, a sore throbbing catching my attention before I realized that I was clenching my fists. The cuts weren’t infected, and I had been doing a good job to make sure I kept them clean, but my hand was still bruised from the impact.

Tim sent a sympathetic look, “How’s the hand?”

I shrugged, “Sore, but it’ll be fine,” my voice trailed off as I got a text from Ollie saying they were finally free for lunch. I waved to Tim with my other hand and grabbed my sweater from the coat rack.

As I walked towards the reception desk though, I could hear Ollie’s voice. They were talking to someone, but the responding voice was not one I recognized. Rounding the corner, I saw Ollie leaning against the reception desk, chatting since Rosie was having her own break. 

“Oh,” Ollie looked away from the desk and waved at me, “Hi, Cosme!”

I waved to them both, approaching as Ollie finished talking about why certain tomatoes needed to be staked in the garden. I bit down a smile, because of course one of the first things Ollie would talk to someone new about would be gardening.

Rosie, however, seemed to be interested in the tomato talk, or at least was interested by how much Ollie knew about taking care of a kitchen garden and canning the harvests to last through winters. Sometimes I would forget how much they would pride themself on being self-sufficient and how moving away drastically changed the course of their life. When we were kids, they wanted to be a doctor- a noble pursuit given their friendly nature, but when their dad whisked them away to the edge of civilization, they became fascinated with living with the planet instead of just on it.

“My grandmother used to grow squash, you know,” Rosie mentioned, sharing how her grandmother taught her how to pick the right squash and leave the ones that needed more time. Rosie wasn’t much older than us, and when she talked about her family she had such a bright expression on her face. “I remember being so scared of some of the bugs and my mum would have to bribe me with sweets to go out into the garden with her and Nan, and soon enough I’d be playing in the dirt! I couldn’t have been older than three or four,” she smiled warmly, her burnt-orange painted fingers tapping against her cheek.

I leaned on the desk next to Ollie and listened, enjoying how the conversation shifted from gardening to sharing things with family and friends. Rosie often fantasized about living in a fairytale cottage with her wife and a bunch of cats, and of course Ollie and I emphatically agreed- was there anything better than a comfortable home with loved ones?

Rosie sat up straight for a second, as though she remembered something. She pulled out an envelope from inside her desk, the sticky note attached reading Jon’s name. She looked up to us, “Sorry, but I forgot that I needed to get this to Jon. His friend delivered it but was in such a rush she couldn’t hand it over herself.”

Ollie tilted their head, “We could take it to him, our lunch just started and we’re going to the pizza place just down the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! It’s not trouble at all, Rosie.”

“Well, thank you two! Enjoy your lunch, it was fun chatting,” she waved and went back to her own work as we turned to deliver the thick envelope to Jon. 

When we rounded the corner to deliver the ‘something’, I couldn’t hold back some of the chuckles erupting from my chest.

“Shut up,” Ollie muttered, looking pointedly away from me.

“I’m definitely not laughing,” I said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” they countered, the faint blush on their cheeks becoming a full-on flustered flush.

“What were the words you used? ‘Living in a big commune with a big vegetable garden and cows and friends’?” I added, going straight for the kill. The shot was open and I took it.

“Oh my god, oh fuck, I’m gay,” they grumbled, shaking their hanging head and prompting a cackle from me before I even thought to try to and hide it.

I had a hard time talking through my grin, “We queers share exactly one braincell and we use it to fantasize about living happily with loved ones and homegrown produce.” I fidgeted with the package in my hands absentmindedly.

It felt like there was something made of plastic inside and briefly, I wondered if maybe it was a tape, but I didn’t think to question it. Maybe someone needed to give a statement but couldn’t give it in person. Ollie pestered me about trying to feel the contents inside and I flushed, not even realizing that I had been doing that.

Tim ended up taking the envelope from us to deliver it himself, excited to use it as an opportunity to gently roast him on his ‘workplace relationships’. I didn’t understand quite what he was getting at, but I had an appetite for once and neither Ollie nor I wanted to question him. And it was nice, having lunch with them. It had been a while since we made time to just be friends and not to think about the institute in all its forms. 

It was also awkward as hell at some points, trying to figure out what we needed from the other in that friendship. I rarely saw Ollie after their father died- they isolated themself and I repressed my longing for both the intimacy and the pure, unrestrained jackassery that was our friendship. Of course then there was also the longing for the way things used to be, but it wasn’t good to dwell on it too much. We settled on figuring it out as we go.

I ended up not finishing my pizza, but it was fine because it was a massive slice- extra cheese and pineapple was the only way to have it. With the takeout container labeled with my name and the date, I slid it into the mostly bare mini-fridge in the break room. The only other things was a carton of milk for tea, I assumed, another takeout container and some Tupperware filled with what looked like a pasta dish.

Ollie and I stayed relatively close to the institute during lunch, in a little outdoor seating area that smelled of cigarette smoke and ash, so factoring in the time to walk to a restaurant was not an issue. I still had a few minutes left before I’d really be in trouble. The lack of a Star Trek Tupperware container made me wonder if Aidan was on his lunch or if he forgot to bring it again.

I waltzed to the room where he usually worked and knocked loudly, “Hey, hey, nerd what’re you eating for lunch-?”

Aidan, who had been sitting at his desk, jerked when I swung the door open, eyes rimmed red and complexion splotchy- like he’d been crying. There was no way for him to hide it too, because he was exceptionally pale. There was a brief passing of panic on his face, like he wasn’t expecting company.

I sputtered, “I’m, I’m sorry, Aidan. I didn’t mean to scare you. A-Are you alright?” I asked.

He choked out what I believed to be a nervous chuckle, “Y-Yeah, I’m good, dude.”

I nodded slowly, “O…kay, have you eaten anything for lunch? I’ve got some leftover pizza, it’s got pineapple but I can pick it off for you.”

Seeing him like that scared me for a number of reasons. I’d helped Aidan through a depressive episode before, and he was very lethargic and grumpy. He didn’t show up to work for three days back in the United States, and when I walked to his apartment to check on him, I saw him curled up on his couch. The bags under his eyes were dark, like he’d been punched. He was a pretty pale dude to begin with, but the ashen tone to his skin was alarming. He had only eaten cheese puffs and half a ramen cup, but he was insistent that I knew he’d at least tried to eat something. When I asked what was wrong, he said that his grandfather came to visit with his parents from the West coast and was fairly loose-lipped about how he felt about Aidan’s romantic and sexual interests. It took a while to get Aidan off the couch, but he got there. He just needed some encouragement and kind words. All that time though, I’d not seen him cry.

The Aidan who stood before me was so fragile, so afraid, like all it would take was a few choice words to send him hurtling into the chasm of self-destruction and melancholy.

And then I was utterly terrified, because when he stood, Aidan immediately fell to his knees before me with a painful sound. He reached out to his desk for support and knocked a sorting rack down, cheap plastic clattering against wooden floors and documents gliding aside.

I lunged forward to be a stable hold for him, grabbing his hand and hooking my elbow around his upper arm to help him up. A sheen of sweat formed on his skin, almost feverish and he was shivering. 

He sounded sick, “I, I can’t- room’s spinning. I need to sit,” he groaned, and so I helped him down into a sitting position against the wall. For once I was pissed that there weren’t any other assistants specializing in digital databases, because no one else had a desk in that room. It was just the two of us until I could go get help.

I gulped, taking a deep breath before bombarding him with interrogations, “Okay, Aidan, I’m gonna go get help-”

He made a noise of disapproval, his grip on my arm -though weak- tightened by a fraction.

“Listen, if you’re sick-”

“I’m not sick,” he whined, breath unsteady. He pointed to a drawer on his desk, “Get a packet,” he instructed me.

I leaned over and pulled out the drawer, frowning because I had no idea what ‘packet’ meant. I turned my head and he finally elaborated, “ _ Honey _ packet,” he rasped.

Some seconds of frantically pushing random office supplies around later, I found what he was talking about. I opened it for him when his fingers kept shaking and slipping on the smooth plastic, and once it was finally open, he squeezed it into his mouth while holding his tongue up.

I narrowed my eyes, unsure of what was happening anymore.

I stayed next to him while he breathed heavily through his nose, letting the honey sit under his tongue for a few seconds until some of the color that faded away in the tumble began to return to his face. Finally, he swallowed and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you,” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s no problem,” I said, out of habit. I had no idea what to ask, so I went with the first question.

“What happened?”

He cleared his throat, fanning himself with his hand, “Blood sugar drop.” He responded casually, like almost collapsing to his knees in front of me was a regular occurrence, and I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and remind him to fucking eat. I also wanted to hug him because Aidan looked so sick and pained, that it kind of hurt. A lot.

“Did you forget to eat?” I asked softly.

He paused, staring at the ground. Slowly, he shook his head.

That sent a brick of fear through my stomach, because I knew he wasn’t diabetic and that left one other possibility if a memory lapse wasn’t the cause.

I sighed, “Look, I- you don’t have to tell me anything, but if you need to talk to  _ someone _ , I can help-”

“It was the meeting with Elias. I don’t know how he did it but I’ve been too anxious to eat” he finally said, hands gripping his vest like his fingers were made of iron. “He knows that I got the footage, and how I did it.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, but I wasn’t good at keeping my voice level. “Did, did he fire you?” I croaked.

Aidan snorted, “Fuck, I wish he did.” Another breath in, and then out, “Do you remember when I gave you that laptop? When I said that I got into trouble when I was a kid?”

I nodded.

“Well, heh, it wasn’t exactly the kind of trouble a kid normally gets into. I uh, I managed to link a local official to some really shady shit. I didn’t even mean to- it was a fuckin’  _ dare _ of all things,” he sneered. “I fell in with a pretty bad crowd- the kind of people who shouldn’t be hanging out with sixteen-year-olds and teaching them how to trace bank accounts and travel records. This one guy- some asshole that I bought weed from a few times, told me that I wasn’t a real hacker if I didn’t do something big. So, I picked someone from the county government and started to talk to people with connections.”

He wiped his eyes, bringing his hands up to rework his ponytail into a bun so his hair wasn’t resting on the back of his neck. “Obviously, because I was a stupid, prideful kid, I wanted to leave a mark. I kept digging into this guy’s personal information and found that he frequented a, um,  _ particular type  _ of website. I had it in my mind that I could maybe bribe him, scare the shit out of him. Maybe I could even get him arrested for the fucked up, evil shit he was involved in. I started looking into who else was involved, just so I had some names and data to back up my threat. Turns out, it went all the way up to state government before I stopped. So I sent an encrypted message to him, threatening that if he didn’t own up to his crimes, I’d drain all of his assets and do it for him.”

My eyes widened. Aidan was a bit of the vigilante type, especially when it came to involvement of law enforcement, but I never knew just how far he’d gotten.

“Well, I wasn’t smart enough and soon there were state troopers busting down my door and hauling my ass to jail. But it didn’t look good, to take a pretty blonde boy to jail and try him as an adult for cyber security attacks or whatever. My parents were upper-middle class folks, and had no problem playing that card when they were interrogated. It wouldn’t look good on the news for some kid to get arrested on felony charges if there was enough evidence to damn the prosecuting party for an even worse crime. And so, my parents dealt. They knew I was underweight already, and that I um…  _ struggled _ , so I ended up speaking with a state-appointed shrink and got admitted to a psychiatric facility for six months. Couldn’t touch a single electronic device during that time, and I wasn’t allowed to use one without adult supervision when my time was up. In exchange, they kept the arrest off my record so I could get a ‘good, respectable job’ when I got older.”

I stared at him for a second, almost shell shocked. Several things were crawling into my mind, questions and anger and sadness and more questions and more anger. Instead of unloading them on the poor, frazzled man before me, I nodded once and kept it simple, “How is this related to the meeting?”

Aidan gulped and his hands started to shake again. He didn’t break down into a fresh round of sobbing like I’d expected though.

“I, I’m  _ not _ crazy, Cosme,” he pointed a trembling finger at me, “But I don’t know how else Elias did this. The reason I was sent was so that it wouldn’t be on my record. As far as anyone except the few people involved, it never fucking happened.”

“He  _ knew _ ?” I gaped.

He nodded stiffly, “A-And, it wasn’t even- it,” he took a deep breath, arms still wound tightly around himself like it was the only comfort he could take at that moment. “It was  _ more _ than that. He- he  _ knew  _ what I was thinking. He knew what I was feeling. It was like I was right back in that bare, white room, treated like a burden, like a  _ fucking freak _ . I- I think I even felt the shame my parents felt when they looked at me, when they still look at me. The doctors talked around me like I was an animal and that fucking orderly knew I was gay and then even after getting out I wasn’t  _ good _ -” Aidan let his head fall into his hands, his own sobs interrupting him and shaking his whole body.

I scooted closer, wiping away at the tears that gathered in the corners of my eyes. Aidan didn’t need me to cry, he needed support. “What, what can I do?”

He sniffed, barely able to get a word out but he pulled his arms away from himself to make the sign for ‘hug’, which was essentially the way he had been holding himself before.

I nodded and moved so that I was sitting next to him against the wall, moving my arm so he could come in. I clenched my jaw hard so I would be careful as I rested my arm around his shoulders. Rarely in my life, did I ever feel anger like that. A fury, a raging strike of lightning that kept targeting the same spot as Aidan’s words echoed in my mind. How he did it, I had no idea, but I knew what he did. He reduced my friend emotionally to rubble, and  _ I had never wanted to hurt someone so badly for causing such agony _ .

We sat there until Aidan’s sobbing slowly trickled out of him, leaving behind only sniffles and puffs of breath. I had no idea how much time passed, but when I got a message from Ollie, I was relieved to see that it hadn’t been long.

“What if you get in trouble?” Aidan asked, voice cracked. He sat up eventually, a wet mark on my sweater the only sign he had been there.

“Elias can suck it,” I said conversationally, “If he wants work to be done up to his standards, then he needs to make a healthier work environment.” Fuck him.

Aidan snorted, turning away to blow his nose into one of the tissues from his travel-size pack, “W̶̤̅́̈́h̵̯̱̦̅a̷̘͋ţ̵͔͇̈́ ̶̲̐͘i̶̘̲̊̍f̵̜͕̮̐ ̴̨͇̆̍͝ḫ̵͘e̵͕͍̙̍̈́͂ ̶̟͉̌̆d̴̛͈͎̦̽͠ơ̸͉̜̇̇e̴̺̱͔̾̐s̷͉̈́ ̵̡̫̀ͅt̶͔͇̩̉̓̔h̷̢̝͂͜e̴̡͉͇̒͗ ̸̘̺̳͂ș̴̇a̵̪̰̺̐̿m̷̦̀͆͊ͅe̶̮̟̊̄͝ ̵͕͚̅͛t̸̲̔͠h̷͍͆̃̊i̷̟̮̓̍n̴̹̪̐̿g̷͓̐̅ ̴͍̺͌t̴̖͓̍o̷͕͒ ̷̜̪̔͗͝ÿ̸̧̡́͑o̷̪̊́͘ư̸̬̭̣?̸͉͔͆̆” 

“Hmm?”

He cleared his throat, “Sorry.” He pulled the tissue away from the red and irritated skin, speaking slowly and clearly. “What if he does the same thing to you?”

That… actually took me by surprise; I hadn’t even considered it. But also, what was Elias going to say to me that I hadn’t already said to myself? Sure, I probably wasn’t immune, but I couldn’t think of much that Elias could say to me that would truly take me out. Sorry asshole, I’d been to enough therapy to not care about what he had to say to me.

I didn’t have an answer, but it didn’t bother Aidan too much. Instead he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “We’re gonna have to be a lot more careful from now on. Especially considering the extra footage.”

“Extra?”

He raised an eyebrow, “You didn’t see the message I sent to you guys?”

I made a tiny gasp and opened up my phone again, “Oh shit,  _ that’s  _ what you guys sent me.”

Aidan nodded, “Yeah, Gomez forgot to bring the other flash drive to our game night. I made him wipe it today because I was scared that he would get in trouble, but he sent me some screenshots. I’m surprised Ollie didn’t tell you,” he said. 

I opened the new group chat thread, seeing the only message sent up to that moment. “There was, kind of a  _ thing _ that happened yesterday.”

“Is it what happened to your hand?”

I nodded, opening up one of the two attachments Aidan sent.

It was a screenshot of the same hallway I’d become familiar with at that angle, only the hallway was dark. The time stamp in the corner of the screen read two in the morning, a time when any reasonable human being would be anywhere but the archives. The image was slightly distorted though, similar to how it was distorted when Sasha went into the offices but more.

Rounding the corner in the freeze frame, was… something.

“Aidan, what am I looking at?” I asked.

He pointed to the corner, “So you know how a VHS tape can do that weird distorting effect on the edges of the frame, usually when rewinding for fast-forwarding?”

I nodded.

“At first, I thought that’s what was happening here. Like, maybe a janitor or someone had to work late and the old cameras malfunctioned for a second. But when you go to this frame-” he swiped to the side, waiting patiently for my phone to load the next attached file.

It was the same frame, only slightly more in focus. The person in the frame was tall, significantly taller than average, joints angled painfully and long. The time stamp was a few seconds ahead of the one in the first image. The waist up was so scrambled in the top edge of the frame, that I could only see a streak of a light color and a bit of dark. But the person in frame was clearly visible below the waist, the ends of something brightly colored flowing slightly past the hips leading to medium toned, slim pants and dark flats.

It was Sasha, the same Sasha that we saw in the footage from earlier in the day.

Aidan begged me to not say anything to Elias, to anyone. It was awfully tempting to leap over the smug bastard’s desk and strangle him, but it would’ve done nothing. He already caused the pain and pretending that I was strong enough to kick his ass wouldn’t undo that, nor would it make me a better person. 

So instead I seethed at my desk, feeling powerless and wound so tight that I was worried I would explode in my seat.

I sent a text to Ollie, outside of both group chats on the same messaging service, to let them know I saw the screenshots Aidan sent.

**OllieOof:** oh fuck I can’t believe I forgot about that

**OllieOof:** lemme look at them

**CosmoCosma:** aidan said that these screenshots were timed at about two in the morning

**CosmoCosma:** and that the tape began to malfunction or something

**OllieOof:** is

**OllieOof:** is that who I think it is

**CosmoCosma:** I think it’s sasha

**OllieOof:** why is sasha in the archives at two in the morning

**OllieOof:** fuckin shit dude I just looked at the screen shots I took of the footage from earlier that day

**OllieOof:** that’s her alright

**CosmoCosma:** I think we should tell the others

**CosmoCosma:** I’m gonna tell jon if you want to tell tim and martin

**OllieOof:** wouldn’t it make more sense to tell them together

**CosmoCosma:** probably but I worry about how tim and jon might react to it? I don’t think they’ll fight but I do worry about it

**OllieOof:** fair enough

**OllieOof:** I definitely feel weird about why I didn’t get to look at these when I got them…

**CosmoCosma:** same

**CosmoCosma:** I was looking at them while walking in the hallway and elias of all people saw me

**CosmoCosma:** dropped my damn phone but I don’t think he saw the messages

**OllieOof:** oshit

**OllieOof:** yeah sasha actually interrupted me 

**OllieOof:** I keep thinking she’s taller than I am bc it feels like she can look over my shoulder easily

**OllieOof:** but she’s like in between our heights, still shorter than me

I frowned, turning my phone screen off in case someone were to walk near at the wrong time. It might have been a reach to assume it, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Elias and Sasha were working together for the cover up. Was Sasha caught up in some kind of deal, like a pawn doing his dirty work? If Elias was able to pull sensitive information on Aidan, did he have Sasha under his thumb too?

That didn’t explain how Elias was able to pinpoint Aidan’s trauma with laser-precision, but I couldn’t think of another explanation. It  _ did _ explain how suspicious Jon was feeling; I wasn’t even an official employee and I felt like I had to be careful of who I trusted.

I sent a text as the clock struck five in the evening, telling Ollie that I was going to talk to Jon. Without waiting for a response, I stood from my desk and strode to the door.

“ _ Shit-! _ ”

I collided with someone, though managed to keep my ego somewhat intact without making a ridiculous sound.

I looked up and saw Martin, who was just as startled as I was.

He laughed, giving an awkward half-smile, “Sorry about that, are you in a rush?”

I almost didn’t know how to respond, but I got the words out after stuttering only a little bit, “Not exactly? Have you seen Jon?”

“He’s in his office,” his face fell slightly, “Are you in trouble?”

I shook my head, “No, but Ollie’s gonna want to talk to you and Tim in a little bit. It’s about the footage.”

“Shouldn’t we all meet to look at it?”

My hum of uncertainty made him worry his bottom lip, “Well, I’m kind of worried about Jon and Tim,” my voice trailed off.

He nodded almost solemnly, “No, I understand. Oh! Um, how is your hand, by the way? Do you still need help changing the bandage?”

The kindness he showed was a complete turn-around from what I had just been thinking about, but it wasn’t unwelcome. I shook my head, remembering pretty well from how he showed me the first two times. It was difficult with one hand, but I was determined (read: stubborn) enough to make it work. 

“It’s sore, but it could be worse. Thank you again for your help,” I said. “Have you been doing alright?”

Martin shrugged, and I finally recognized the tone he was using- it wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to talk about his feelings; he was downplaying them. It was a tone I’d used before when my aunt and uncle would try to get me to open up as I got older, when therapists asked me why I felt better when I would drift away.

“I’ve been alright.”

I wanted to prod for more but decided against it. If he didn’t want to share, he didn’t have to. Like Ollie said, I wasn’t a therapist, but I could be supportive.

“That’s good to hear,” I responded. “Um, I’m gonna head to Jon’s office now, Ollie will be up in just a minute.”

While the awkward encounter had physically ended, my brain kept on a loop of what would’ve been better things to say. The prickling on the back of my neck felt like tiny fingers dropping liquid shame, the swirling feeling in my stomach adding the cherry on top of the fucking sundae of me being bad at socializing. 

I knocked on Jon’s door, sighing quietly as I waited for a response.

Instead what I got was Elias opening the door and stepping aside.

“Don’t mind me, just wrapping up a meeting. Have a good evening, Cosme.”

I gave a smile, but I knew it was forced and probably looked like it too. I mumbled out a goodnight to him, hoping it didn’t sound like I was gritting my teeth. The look on his face filled me with a fury I could barely describe.

I clenched my fist, letting the soreness of my knuckles ground me back into reality, into  _ reason _ .

As Elias closed the door behind me, I sat in the chair opposite Jon’s desk, unsure of where to start. When I looked up though, Jon was in a similar state. 

Had Elias done the same thing to him?

With a sigh, Jon looked up from his desk and at me, startling like he hadn’t expected me to be sitting there, right in front of him. Which then of course, caused me to startle because I thought he knew I was sitting there, right in front of him.

He cleared his throat and straightened his posture, “Right, um, is there anything you needed from me?” he asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The purple, white, grey, and black ring on his middle finger reflected a bit of dim lamp light. I could clearly see that he wasn’t sleeping. His features had thinned out quite a bit, just in the few weeks I’d known him- the first thing I wanted to ask was if he was okay. 

He seemed a little shocked that I asked in the first place, but he nodded, “Yes, just trying to figure some things out in regards to some odd statements.”

I couldn’t help the chuckle, “Odd? Aren’t most of them odd?”

He stared at me, and I figured that if I listened hard enough I could hear the dial-up tone as he processed what I said. To be fair, I probably would’ve done the same.

“Ah, well. Hmm, we can talk about that later- what was it that you needed?”

While he deflected pretty messily, I let it drop anyway. There were more important things.

“Cosme, could you perhaps send me those photos?” Jon asked after staring at my phone screen for more than a few minutes.

“Um, I could ask someone to download the app to your phone. It’s safer than text, apparently.”

He pursed his lips, “I don’t think it’s going to be an issue within the institute,” he said.

“Maybe not, but legally speaking it might be.” I replied, raising my eyebrows.

He opened his mouth to counter but opted to not say anything. Instead, he pulled out a tape player on pause, eyes boring into the machine like he expected it to get up and start dancing. 

“How many times have you heard Sasha speak?” He asked.

I frowned, thinking about it. “Not, not much? Usually when she addresses me, it’s in artifact storage or in passing, so I have a hard time hearing her anyway.”

Jon nodded and motioned towards my headphones, resting around my neck, “If the audio is difficult for you to hear, let me know.”

I plugged in my headphones, “What am I supposed to be listening for?”

“Just,” he clenched his hands, groaning in frustration, “I don’t know. I need someone else to hear it, but I don’t know who else to ask.”

“Other than  _ me _ ?” 

He crossed his arms on his desk, “You’ll be gone in a week or two anyway, so if you think I’m insane it means little to me.”

I shrugged and placed my headphones over my ears, listening to Jon read a statement about a musical instrument that played on its own, a haunting carnival tune that I could hear just thinking about it. 

“ _ I went back over to the calliope. There was- _ ”

“ _ I thought it was pronounced ‘ka-lee-o-pee’ _ ?”

It was a voice I didn’t recognize, friendly sounding but otherwise one I’d not heard before.

“ _ Sasha? You’re… back early – I thought you were trying to get hold of… _ ”

The rest of the statement kind of faded, because I felt sick. And then when ‘Sasha’ started to speak again, I listened carefully to her voice, the way she inflected and the pitch. It was a completely different voice, not of the ‘Sasha’ I knew. 

I sat back in my seat and took my headphones off. Jon wouldn’t meet my eyes for a few tense seconds, but when he did finally look up to see my expression, I think the first thing I saw was relief- followed by immediate horror.

“S-So,” I mumbled, “I imagine it’s very unlikely that there were two assistants named Sasha working here at the same time?”

Jon shook his head, “Just the one.”

“I-, hmm,” I paused, “When do you notice the change?”

“After Prentiss, as far as I can tell. All of the tapes before the attack, all of them with her voice were gone for a long time.”

Tim’s words floated around as he discussed his timeline, because I distinctly recalled in that moment, how he said that Sasha changed after Prentiss. 

“Where did you find these?” I asked, because if Jon wanted to come forward with the tape, Tim would probably want the details, the evidence. Whatever Jon was implying was more than a claim of murder, but of something entirely not of the world I was familiar with.

“They were smashed up, in the tunnels beneath the archives.”

“You went down there?” I gaped, making him jerk from the abruptness of my volume.

Jon sputtered and for a second we bickered about why I was scared of the tunnels and why I was shocked that he went in them until we were both satisfied with the end result of there being absolutely no worms remaining. 

“So you were able to piece the tapes back together?”

He sighed, “Just that one, the other was too damaged to place it back into a new, empty cassette. Cosme, I, I went into the tunnels several times, not just the one where I found this.” His leg was bouncing the desk slightly, but I didn’t notice until he stopped himself like he was aware of his own anxious energy.

“And?”

“Sasha, the Sasha we see today, found me one day when I had gotten lost. She looked too tall and I didn’t recognize her at first, too tall like in that photo you showed me.”

I was nearing a sort of information overload, specifically with information that fit together, I just couldn’t figure out how. “So, what do we do?” I asked.

Jon shook his head, minutely, but still noticeable, “I don’t know. For right now, I came into possession of some documents and tapes referring to something called the ‘NotThem’. The last of which just came to me today- I’m going to research as much on it as possible.”

“Do you want help?”

He thought on that for a moment, like he was carefully planning the next thing he wanted to say. For all of the preamble, he gave a dismissive, “Maybe. I- I don’t know if it’s a good idea to tell Martin and Tim yet.” He didn’t need to emphasize the name for me to know he meant Tim especially.

“Jon, do you still think they want to hurt you?” I asked.

He gave me a glare, “You weren’t there,” his voice was irritated and almost accusatory.

“You’re right, I wasn’t. But I was there when Tim started to grab for you when the whole book thing happened in storage.” The frown on his face unfurled just a bit, looking more like embarrassment and frustration than anger and fear.

“I- I wasn’t aware of that.”

“Yeah, you weren’t looking.”

Jon fell silent for a moment, speaking only when the air conditioning unit quieted, “I don’t think they’d want to hear it from me.”

I shrugged, “I can’t tell you how they feel, because you’d have to ask them that. And still, like you said, I wasn’t there. I have no idea the kind of stress you and the rest of the archival team are under but hearing everything from both sides kind of feels like I’m sitting in a theater watching a Shakespearean tragedy where everyone dies or is miserable in the end.”

He snorted at my attempt at humor, and while it probably did sound funny, it was definitely more depressing than funny. 

I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to word my question without sounding accusatory, but I couldn’t think of anything gentle so I was blunt, “Why  _ haven’t _ you told them yet?”

Jon stared at the ceiling for a moment, like the old support beams and ventilation system was a calming reprieve of everything he’s ever dealt with. I almost asked again, until he spoke very carefully, “Accusing colleagues of potentially nefarious business didn’t go too well for me last time, I’m afraid.”

I didn’t miss the sarcastic tone there, and even though the feel of the room was mildly uncomfortable, I appreciated the transparency in his mannerisms. To think that I would find myself in an adjacent boy-who-cried-wolf situation was absurd, but there had to be something to encourage him to trust his coworkers at least enough to talk to them. I looked on his desk, seeing a takeout container that once had curry inside, but I remembered that he hadn’t ordered takeout in a long time. I decided to not ask when he last ate, because it wasn’t my place and it was possible that I misunderstood something, but instead decided to wrap up why I came in the first place.

“For the record, Ollie is showing Tim and Martin the same pictures-”

Somewhere in the room, was a click and I at first wondered if Jon had turned on a tape recorder. But his hands remained on the table, not touching anything other than the scars not covered by his long-sleeved shirt.

His demeanor changed though, more vigilant like he was looking for something. He sighed, “Well, I think that’s eno̶u̷g̶h̴ ̶f̸o̸r̵ ņ̵͇̹̑̚o̸̡̢̼͑̅͊ŵ̵̟,̸̯̞̄́ ̵͈̫͖̍̋̐Î̷̺'̴̡͋l̶̝͙̿l̸̻͙̫̍ s̵̟͋e̴͕̻̲̱̊e̸͓͗̾̂͠ ̶̨̠̒̐̈́͠y̸̛͎̗̱̓o̷͚̖̽͌̿u̷̡̦͎̥̇͛̍̕ ̷̩̻̫͆t̶̙̗͖̺̔̾͒̊ỏ̷̩͕̦̩͌̽m̶͚̗̓̆ó̵̯̤r̸̤̥͆͂r̵͓̦̳̯̈́̈́͠ó̶͎̹͚̲w̷̛̼̠͈̔̿.”

I frowned, unsure of what he was trying to say but I could theorize that it was a farewell for the day. He slowly signed and mouthed ‘See you tomorrow’, something that I’d learned only recently.

I waved a goodbye, and then I was standing in the hallway, head swimming with everything I’d just learned. I shoved my hand in my pocket, feeling around for the tiny, tumbled glass pellet. It had broken in half during the tumbling process, dulling the edges of the break but keeping them jagged enough that it was a distinct grounding sensation. Ollie found it in a corner store near the share house, and with most of my stimming items being back in the states, it made for a great improvised tool.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

There was a lot to cover, if more than a capitalist plot to avoid facing consequences was afoot.


	9. wide awake in a world full of lullabies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY READ THIS PLS *****  
> BIG trigger warning for gaslighting, specifically someone with a mental illness being gaslit (they get some support and stuff but it can still be uncomfy) *****  
> Sometimes I think about that tumblr post where it's like "hey hey unblock me" "what" "BITCH" and i really feel like we were robbed that we didn't get to have that interaction between Melanie and Elias.  
> That has nothing to do with this chapter, it's just something I think about a lot

“Motherfucker,” a voice behind me hissed.

I looked up from my drawing, watching as Odin decided that he’d had enough of being a model for the time being and flapped away. My eyes fell to the incomplete sketch, trying to think if it could be done without Odin to correctly draw the angle of the scar over his left eye. I wasn’t a trained artist but I’d found myself leaning more on it as a hobby to get through the awful weeks. It took a few seconds to realize that Ollie probably wanted a response.

I looked over my shoulder, “What’s up?”

Ollie had been sitting with me for the past half hour or so, watching the clouds from the small, shaded patio while I talked to Odin and tried to draw him just right. Of course, because of Ollie’s magnetic personality and overall friendly demeanor, they ended up bumping into Melanie when she came into the Institute to give her statement. With their combined interests in obscure ghost podcasts and table-top roleplaying games, they traded social media handles and began sending recommendations to each other.

Though with the scowl Ollie made at the screen of their phone, I had a feeling what they were looking at was not related to a fun recommendation or creepy urban legend.

“Ollie?” I asked, grabbing their attention.

They lifted their head, more than just irritation on their face, as they turned their phone around for me to see.

It was an email cc’d to them and to Aidan, from Elias.

They were both free to leave the institute and return to the states.

I sighed, “Well, shit.”

They rested their chin in their hand, “I knew this was going to happen eventually. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t think to send  _ you _ , like, I know you don’t want to leave, but of the three of us to choose from?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I feel like he didn’t think that through. Though, I’ve been meaning to look through the stuff I signed before leaving Winchester. Mostly just to see if there was any wiggle room for leaving early. I mean, if I’m just one person from Winchester, I could probably weasel into going home with your guys if I go at it from a money standpoint.”

Ollie didn’t know about what happened to Aidan, but they knew I was hiding something. I wanted to tell them; I wanted to explain why Elias was worse than we thought- that we had to warn our new friends just how cruel he was. But Aidan begged me to say nothing. The fear of people thinking he was crazy for being in a hospital for months was nearly as strong as the fear of retribution from the heartless, bureaucratic bastard himself. Ollie only let it go when I said that it wasn’t my traumatic experience to share.

They wrinkled their nose, “You signed stuff?”

“You didn’t?”

“Well, no, though I guess I’m not technically a Winchester employee anymore. But I don’t recall Lizzie, Mike, or Aidan saying that they signed anything upon arriving.” They pointed out.

I shook my head, “No, I didn’t sign it when I got here- it was a packet in my mailbox at Winchester.”

Ollie shrugged, “Yeah, you should take a look at it. It’s only a probably-legally binding document or whatever,” I stuck my tongue out at their smirk.

“‘ _ Or whatever _ ’- come on, let’s head inside. We should make sure Aidan isn’t jumping for joy on any furniture.” I snorted, packing up my art supplies and offering my uninjured hand to them to stand.

Aidan was not jumping for joy on various pieces of furniture, but rather, was holed up in his room. I didn’t have to put my ear to the door to hear his furious typing or the harsh beats blasting from what I hoped was at least headphones around his neck and not on his ears. I thought about knocking to check on him, but Aidan was the kind of person to get into a groove and stay that way for hours without interruption. And though I couldn’t remember what project he was working on specifically, I knew he hated being pulled from the groove. 

I checked my phone, pleased to see that we had a little extra time before Ollie and I needed to leave the share-house. We were going to meet Martin and Tim again and discuss the screenshots we showed them previously; I still had about fifteen minutes before we were headed out the door. I grabbed the permanent marker from my bag and wrote Aidan’s name on a little index card, with a silly doodle in the corner, before taping it to the re-used takeout container with the leftovers of the pasta dish he liked so much. 

Putting on clothing that wasn’t pajamas was a sad experience, but I pushed through it until I looked somewhat presentable. Though the snort Ollie made when their eyes fell to my hair had me questioning just how presentable I was. I chose to leave my hair be, deciding that the whole world would just have to deal with messy hair. They made me start using a better conditioner, so instead of it being a cloud-like mass, it had actual definition to it, or whatever haircare buzzword fit there. My curls weren’t as frizzy anymore and had a real shape- that was about it.

Ollie startled me out of my childish, grungy revelry with a reminder that I actually needed to get moving if we were going to leave on time, which was entirely fair.

I opened up the messaging app and looked for my chat thread with Aidan.

**CosmoCosma:** hey nerd, you’ve got leftovers with your name on them in the fridge

**CosmoCosma:** >:3

**Vang0Bang02:** thnx bb

**CosmoCosma:** one more thing

**CosmoCosma:** Ollie and I are meeting with Martin and Tim about those screenshots

**Vang0Bang02:** cool tell martim I said hi

**CosmoCosma:** aidan you can’t just give irl people ship names

**Vang0Bang02:** I didn’t

**CosmoCosma:** I can scroll up and see it myself

**Vang0Bang02:** nuh uh

**CosmoCosma:** omfg

**CosmoCosma:** anyway I actually wanted to ask you something

**CosmoCosma:** I won’t tell them the details, but I worry about how easily Elias was able to dig shit up on you. Is it okay if I warn them about it?

**Vang0Bang02:** does it matter what I choose

**CosmoCosma:** it matters to you

**Vang0Bang02:** hmm

**Vang0Bang02:** I think, yea

**Vang0Bang02:** nothing specific but… I think they should be aware of it

**CosmoCosma:** ofc bro

**CosmoCosma:** last check tho, do you still wanna stay here?

**Vang0Bang02:** yeah, everything still feels raw

**CosmoCosma:** np

**Vang0Bang02:** oh cosme

**Vang0Bang02:** thnx for the leftovers

**Vang0Bang02:** <3

**CosmoCosma:** <3

“Ready to go?” Ollie asked, popping their head into the bedroom.

I grabbed the sweater from the messy bed and shoved my phone into my back pocket, “Yeah,” I nodded, “About as ready as I can be.”

We found ourselves in a little park, thankfully under the shade of some trees. After nearly a week of rain, a lot of Londoners were relieved to have a day of sun. Thankfully though, some areas of the green space were still relatively sparse when it came to occupants, giving us some space to talk in some small capacity of privacy.

Ollie flicked my parasol, “Where did you even get that?”

I held the parasol defensively, “Aidan let me borrow it after taking off some of the cyberpunk accessories.”

“You look like a mismatched goth kid,” they grinned.

“Okay, you laugh now, but if I didn’t have this then you would be responsible for the aloe and lotion application.” I squinted at them, because they knew well enough just how sensitive my skin was and how prone to sunburn I was if not prepared for sunlight.

Martin frowned, “Does sunscreen not work for you?”

I sighed, “If it’s the one hundred-SPF kind, which I know, I know it only goes up to like seventy or some shit but this particular kind stays better even if it’s such a hassle to apply.”

Tim snorted, “I don’t think I’ve ever sunburned,” he said.

“Congratulations,” I snarked.

“You’re not missing out on much,” Martin added.

“Gather ‘round, children,” Ollie caught our attention again, “I can’t believe I’m the one able to keep us on topic,” they added under their breath as they opened up the recently-charged zombie laptop.

“So, what makes this a ‘zombie laptop’?” Tim asked as Ollie pulled up the screenshots.

“I have no idea, I’m pretty sure that’s something Aidan made up?” They suggested, “But he said that because he knows the person who built this computer, he can trust that there’s no operating system that tracks things, I think. Maybe.”

We scooted closer together as we looked at the screenshots of the footage obtained and already reviewed. 

“We’ve already seen these,” Martin said.

“Correct,” I mumbled, reaching over to also open the messaging app. Because we weren’t near any wi-fi spots or could connect to the internet with an ethernet cable, we had no abilities to send or receive any messages. But, I made sure to download the attachments from the chat Aidan, Ollie, and I were participants of before we set out for that meeting.

The pictures came up and I moved the windows side-by-side for comparison.

Martin frowned, “That’s-”

“Sasha,” Tim finished for him, voice barely audible but I knew what he said from the look on his face alone. “When is this, where is the time stamp?” He demanded, voice still quiet but sharp.

I pointed to the corner, and watched as Martin and Tim both exhaled, as though they had been holding their breath- hoping it wasn’t her.

“Okay, well, we don’t even know what this means. This certainly doesn’t have anything to do with the tape because it was already gone by then.” Tim looked away from the screen.

Martin sat there though, silent, like he was afraid of what he was seeing. He probably was, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking though, so I spoke up.

“Look, it’s possible that maybe she’s-” 

Tim held a hand up, “Please, just- don’t.” There was no malice in his voice, no anger or aggression, just… grief. 

It wasn’t the first uncomfortable silence between us, but if it had to be ranked it was the most unpleasant of them all. Neither Ollie nor I could offer anything to the discussion, because even if we knew what happened with Prentiss, the coverup, all of it, there wasn’t much comfort or reassurance we could provide.

“If I may,” Ollie spoke softly, “You are correct, we don’t know what this means. But, we can’t sit and say that it’s meaningless.”

Tim’s jaw was clenched, but I couldn’t see much else. He wouldn’t turn to face us.

“Tim,” Martin gently touched a hand to his shoulder, making him sag a bit, “We should tell Jon, at least.”

He scoffed, “Why? So h̵͉̒e̶̬̊͑ ̴͈͔̈́͝c̸̜̹̈́ȁ̶̳͇n̷̐̚͜ ̴͇̳͊͛ą̸̧̊ĉ̸̹̱ċ̷̨̩u̶̬̱͆s̷͇͒e̵̎͜ ̵͎̉h̴̙͋e̴̥͘ͅr̵̬͌̄ ̸̫̩̽ö̶̫̜́f̶̫͕͌̓ ̴̢̉m̸͚͔͝ű̵̱̺̌r̴̀͜d̴̢̯͛ë̷̙̙̕r̶̦͝ ̴͓̣̂ő̵̪͝r̶̮̯̍ ̶͈̲̃s̷̱̹̄ẗ̵͇͎́ä̶͚́l̶̝͓̽k̶̨̘̉ ̸̭͖̌͂h̸̲̙̆ê̶̟̙̇r̶͈̾̎, too?” 

I looked to Ollie, who shook their head minutely. I didn’t ask for clarification.

“I’ve already shown Jon,” I admitted, and before Tim could say whatever he was going to, I kept going. 

“I think Elias is up to some shady shit,” I emphasized, prompting a humorless chuckle from Tim, to whom this was absolutely not a revelation, “There was an…  _ incident _ , recently that’s made it much more apparent.”

“Like  _ what _ ?”

I pursed my lips, “I can’t give details, okay? I’ve been asked to keep this on a need-to-know basis. I don’t know how he did it or who he got it from, but he’s not afraid to use blackmail. Just getting the footage-” I didn’t know what to say- how does one sum up the entire traumatic experience into a short and concise statement?

Tim’s (reasonable) irritation did falter slightly, “Are Aidan and his friend okay? Did he try that on either of you?” As Tim asked that, Martin visibly tensed but kept his eyes fixed on the screen.

I took a deep breath, “Listen, I’m not here to say that Jon was in the right or say that you’re wrong to feel hurt by it. I’m also not here to accuse Sasha of doing anything connected with Gertrude’s murder or the Prentiss thing- at least not willfully. Aidan and Gomez are, as far as I know, okay- but Elias has the ability to hurt if we dig any deeper.  _ Whatever _ is happening, we can’t make any accusations until we know just how many people Elias has under his thumb.” My stomach flipped at least five times while I spoke, especially at the idea that maybe I didn’t know as much as I thought I did. But, I didn’t accidentally overshare Aidan’s story or what Jon told me about the tape. That wasn’t mine to give.

Martin looked like he was going to be sick, and I thought to myself that maybe he had something we didn’t know about. He let out a stressed breath, “So, what now?”

Ollie twiddled their thumbs in their lap, “I mean, I don’t know how things work here but unions are pretty feared in the United States for a reason. If all of the ‘small’ people work together, they realize they’ve got more power than the ‘big’ people. It’s not much, but if anything now’s the time for you all to come together. Tim, a while back you said you were going to talk to Sasha. What’s happening there?”

“She’s been distant, but I don’t think she knew that she was on the cameras then. I can talk to her again and see what happens.”

Martin nodded, “I should probably try to talk to Jon.” Tim raised his eyebrows to that, prompting a somewhat offended scowl from him, “What?”

“Sorry! Just, Martin, you’re a very nice person but I think there has to be effort on the other end for a conversation to work-”

“I am  _ well aware _ that I’m not his favorite coworker, but I don’t want him to think he’s alone.”

I winced as I spoke, feeling like my input didn’t mean much, “I can try?”

“You think he’d actually open up to you?” Ollie asked.

“Maybe not a lot, but,” I thought of what he said to me when I was sitting in his office, “I don’t think he values my opinion of him as much as he does theirs,” I motioned to Martin and Tim.

Ollie frowned, but then made a face of understanding, “You mean like, he’d open up  _ because _ he doesn’t care for your opinion.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t entirely sure of my own suggestion. Really, I just had one of those faces that said, ‘Ah yes, this idiot won’t remember a single thing I’ve said- time to unload my personal bullshit’. I was good at being a blank expression to talk to, but that didn’t exactly translate to being a truly effective confidante. 

It didn’t take long to wrap up from there; we didn’t have much else to cover. I pondered the possibility of video-calling Lizzie later that day- she’d been busy with work at Winchester and though she said she wanted to chat again, I was beginning to feel that it was more a formality than not. Perhaps it was my own anxiety getting in the way, but Lizzie seemed a little different since going back and I worried that I didn’t know how to talk to her anymore.

A crow cawed from the tree limbs above as we packed our things and went our separate ways.

I dreaded the morning.

There was a sudden pang of fear that gripped me when I woke up that morning, the day Ollie and Aidan said that they were going to leave. The ridiculous thing was, I knew that it was going to happen. It was the end goal, after all, to get on a plane and leave and go back to everyday life in the United States. But there was a thought, barely loud enough in the back of my head, suggesting that I wasn’t going to do that.

Ollie hugged me tightly, and I realized how much I missed physical contact.

“Promise you won’t get into too much trouble?” They asked.

I huffed, “You know I can’t do that.”

“Smartass,” I could hear the grin in their voice.

When we pulled away, I couldn’t look at their side of the room. I’d just gotten used to living in the share house, even with just two other people. I’d gotten used to having Ollie around.

“Did Aidan already leave?” I asked.

Ollie shrugged, “Probably? I haven’t heard from him this morning yet.”

I looked over to their things, packed in the center of the room for when they were ready to go. Their small suitcase, their backpack, a canvas sack with a thick tie around the top didn’t look any different than when they arrived and we unpacked our things on the first day. I looked over almost like I was checking if they’d forgotten anything. 

They nudged my shoulder and I looked up, seeing their little half smile. They shoved their hands into the pockets of their leather jacket, “Gonna have a good day at work?”

I rolled my eyes, “Sure.”

The joking expression on their face fell for a second, “You know, I’ve missed rooming with you.”

“Even though I talk in my sleep?”

“Yeah,” they smiled and there was a flicker of something in their eyes, though I was unsure if it was regret or discomfort. They sighed, “We uh, we should-”

My phone began to ring with Elias’s number showing up as the contact. I looked up to Ollie, feeling like I was legitimately going to be sick. Their own worry showed too, but they guided me through a deep breath. “Hey, it’s okay, he’s probably just going to tell you that you can go home too.”

I wanted to dispute that, but instead I kept my mouth shut as I answered the call.

“Hello?” I spoke, trying to keep my voice even.

“ _ Oh good, I was worried that it might be too early to call you. I’m afraid my computer is having a little trouble, otherwise I would’ve emailed you. Please come by my office once you come in for the day at eight.” _

“Oh, um- sure,” I said, barely able to get any words out before he gave the usual professional ‘I’m hanging up now’ preamble, and he ended the call with me. 

Ollie stared at me as I stared at my phone screen, speaking only when it had been silent for a moment, “What did he want?”

“He uh, said he wanted to have a meeting with me?” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I’d understood him.

“Why didn’t he email you like he did for the rest of us?” They sighed when I could only shrug a reply, “Hmm, maybe it’s nothing. Um, I’m gonna be here for a few hours since my flight isn’t until later. If I’m still around for lunch, wanna do one more pizza day until you come back?”

I nodded, giving a smile as Ollie hugged me once more and threw my cardigan at me as we parted. 

Making the commute alone for once was a little distressing but going to the Institute from the share house had become like second nature by then. I felt silly, but I already missed seeing Ollie imitate the crows as we walked the streets after the train. But, it eventually blurred by and I settled into my usual inner monologue while walking. I worried I wouldn’t get any work done that day, thinking about nothing but my friends, both in the states and my new friends. I tried to not feel guilty that I got to go home, even if not that day but someday. We were doing something that could help them, I told myself, even if it doesn’t fix everything, just the little bit we could do had to count for something.

I blinked as I stood at the entrance, not realizing how hardcore I had slipped away for the moment.

Muting my music, I slipped my headphones around my neck and checked the time. I was a little early, but it was okay because that gave me time to set my things down at my little cubby in the break room and sit at my desk for a moment to brood.

The only problem with that, was Tim sitting in the break room to brood over a cup of tea that looked mostly untouched and probably set there by Martin.

He looked up from the table where he had been staring intently and blinked a few times, “G’morning, Cosme.”

I nodded my head at him and set my bag down, “Sup?”

He yawned, “Trying to wake up, still.”

“You’re early, got anything big today?” I asked, making small talk as I made my own cup of tea.

He shrugged, “Just more of the usual,” he brushed it off, but I could see the exhaustion exuding from him, “Spooky work, and all.”

I nodded, “Sounds about right. I’ve been meaning to ask, um, how did it go with Sasha?” When we had all parted ways the evening prior, he said that he was going to drop by her place for a chat. He even looked excited about it, stating that they hadn’t had much of a chance to talk since her workload got heavier in artifact storage. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it, and almost blurted that Martin should go with him, remembering all at once what Jon had me listen to.

He waved his hand, “Caught her when she was ‘busy’, but she’d like to talk another time.” I didn’t miss the regret in his tone, he cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea, “Hey, where’s Ollie?”

Looking back on it, it was a successful deflection, because I gasped softly, “Oh fuck, I completely forgot to say something. Ollie and Aidan are going home today.”

His eyes widened somewhat, and he ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair. It was then, that I noticed that Tim was wearing the same outfit as he wore yesterday. He made a thoughtful face and spoke before I could ask though, “I thought you were all going back together? Like, this was the last day for all of the volunteers.”

I wrinkled my nose, remembering why I was early in the first place. With a groan, I stirred a little sugar into my tea once it had steeped enough, “I have no idea, maybe? I have a meeting with Elias at eight, that might be it.”

He looked at me, and then to his phone screen, and then to me again, “Hey, Cosme?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s 7:58.”

“Oh fuck,” I muttered and stood abruptly, pushing my chair in and then lamenting about my tea. I paused for a second, “Is it inappropriate workplace decorum to bring my mug of tea into his office?” I asked.

“To hell with workplace decorum,” he muttered and held his mug up at me in a ‘cheers’ motion before taking a drink.

That… wasn’t much of an answer I could work with so I decided to bring the mug with me. If Elias was going to be a baby about it, I would just say that I didn’t think it was a good idea to waste break room resources. Power-walking with a mostly full cup of very hot tea was not something I was expecting to do that morning, but I made it work with little-to-no threat of disaster or spillage.

At least, not until I was standing outside of Elias’s office, willing my hand to stop shaking so noticeably.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

I knocked on the door, realizing afterward that I wouldn’t be able to hear him very well, and poked my head in to announce myself.

Elias looked up from his desk, “Good morning, please take a seat.”

I sat down, holding my mug in my lap and focusing on the borderline painful heat emanating from it to stay grounded. Having a cup full of hot liquid in the lap was good for preventing any nervous fidgeting, and I almost felt like I couldn’t let Elias know that I was nervous. Thankfully, he didn’t keep me waiting.

“How has working in the archives been?” He asked, scooting his chair back slightly to open a drawer in his desk.

The question was reasonable for a meeting, but I felt caught off guard by it, nonetheless. I gave a noncommittal noise, “Well, the statements are uhm, well, statements. In terms of the work I’m doing, it’s a little slower paced than I’m used to but I imagine that’s just part of the volunteer load.”

He nodded, “That  _ is _ true, the volunteers generally had a smaller workload, just the functions needed until replacements could be found. Ah, here it is-” Elias placed a small packet on the desk, and I recognized it because my signature was at the bottom. It was the collection of documents I filled out for the volunteer position.

I couldn’t help but wonder what he would know about me, as my eyes scanned the documents to see my signature on lines like agreement of wages, understanding workplace regulations, and-

I frowned, leaning forward to see what it was that I had signed.

“Ah, Elias?”

“Yes?”

“I um, I don’t recall signing an agreement to transfer.” I said, pointing to the line that I  _ did _ sign, but I didn’t remember the part saying that after the month of training, I would be transferred to the Magnus Institute from Winchester College.

“Well, your signature  _ is _ there. And I’m afraid the paperwork’s already gone through- by Monday, you will be an official employee of the Magnus Institute.” I couldn’t read his expression, his eyebrows slightly furrowing like he might have been concerned, and it took a solid few seconds to swallow the lump in my throat before I could even consider speaking up again.

“Elias, I’m sorry but I’m supposed to be working back in the states by Monday. I haven’t been able to do the things I need to move internationally-” I started, feeling my words die as he continued.

“I can call Mr. Fellows, but I believe he may have already transferred as well. As of now though, I’m afraid you’ll have to agree to what you signed to. I’m a little worried Cosme, how often do you sign things without reading them? It was my understanding that you knew. Now, I would like to get to what I called this meeting for-”

For a second I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t uncommon for me to gloss over details, to completely miss things that are generally right in front of me in plain sight. But, my signature was right there and I knew it, I knew that I wasn’t going to go home so easily. The worries of being in a different country, having to figure out where to live and how to get my medication and how to be a person on their own, truly, all began to sink onto my shoulders like thousands of hands pushing me underwater.

And the second immediately after I was aware of that, there was a knock on the door.

If I wasn’t so anxious, I would’ve reveled in the brief pinching of his eyebrows, but it was gone too soon before I could truly acknowledge it as he tried to say that a meeting was taking place.

But whoever knocked on the door was insistent, so much that the door opened slightly to reveal a face I was so relieved to see.

Ollie stood there, backpack slung over their shoulder and a smile on their face. They didn’t make eye contact with me, but they were gentle about placing a hand on my shoulder, “Hey there, Elias. I’m so glad you’re in, I was worried I’d miss you two.”

I looked up at them, taking slow, deliberate breaths because in that moment, they might as well have been wearing a suit of armor. They took a second to smile back down at me, different than the one they wore when they walked in.

“Ollie, I’m afraid-” Elias began, like his tongue was on the edge of a warning but they wouldn’t let him finish.

“Did you think I would go back? No, sorry, I thought you knew by now, but Cosme and I are kind of a package deal, so if you want them on your team, I’m coming along.” The look on Ollie’s face when they met gazes with Elias wasn’t so antagonistic, but more of a challenge, like they were daring him to say something.

He stiffened in his chair, straightening his posture, “As I was saying, I do not hand out employment opportunities like party favors. We no longer have any openings to accept paid employees.”

Ollie hummed, “That’s interesting, because I definitely  _ wasn’t _ an employee of Winchester when you brought me on as a volunteer and paid me for work that I was doing.”

The pause in the discussion was suffocating, Elias looking tired of Ollie’s games, but otherwise unbothered. I wanted to ask Ollie just what they thought they were doing by trying to get hired alongside me, and then I wanted to fall to my knees and thank them profusely at the same time. 

Elias cleared his throat, “Why should I hire you?” His voice was calm, formal but loosely.

“I’m good at what I do, or you could let Cosme quit?” They suggested.

He raised a brow, unamused, but sighed a tiny huff in exasperation. Instead of telling Ollie to leave, like I had expected him to, he pulled out a blank packet similar to my own for them to sign.

“Ċ̴̦͜o̶͓͇͝ş̶̰͂m̷̼͋e̶̝͠,̸̞̭̍ ̸͈̰̔c̷̠̔̃a̵̩̍n̵̯͑̿͜ ̴̞̆y̷̜̕͜o̴̹̠͛̋ȕ̵͇ ̵̩̲̓h̴͎̎ẽ̸͎͝a̴̭̅r̸͚̃ ̷̢̅̈́m̵̧̰̍ę̵͕͆?”

I looked up from the flooring, gripping Ollie’s hand in mine like it was the only thing keeping my body from floating away. Finally, I found their face in the early morning commotion of the institute, “Ollie, what did we just agree to?” I asked, when the metaphorical cotton began to fall from my ears as my faculties came back to me.

They sighed, “Not sure, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Do you need to sit down? You looked like you were going to pass out in there.”

I was slowly becoming aware of my body but sitting down didn’t seem like a bad idea. I wanted more tea, something warm to stay grounded. I must’ve said something about it, because they were already leading me towards the break room, which was thankfully empty for the time being. It looked like Martin had been in recently, as the electric kettle was still warm.

Ollie took the mug from my hands and replaced the tea bag, and then filled it up with the water left in the kettle.

It wasn’t until they placed the mug in front of me, and the break room door opened again, that I realized what had just happened.

“Oh  _ fuck _ , we work here now,” I gasped in my seat, staring at the mug of tea wide-eyed.

There was a slight confused noise in front of me, and I raised my head to see Martin standing there, coming in for what was probably a cup of tea for Jon. His face matched mine and he sputtered for a second before settling on, “ _ What? _ ”

Ollie pinched the bridge of their nose, “Jesus Cosme, you really know how to deliver news, don’t you?”

“Wait, no, what do you mean you work here now?” Martin demanded.

“We just signed the paperwork, er- well, I did. We think Elias or whoever is involved with employee recruitment tricked Cosme into signing an agreement to be hired after the month.”

While Ollie had essentially wrapped up the meeting with a nice little bow, Martin still had questions. I didn’t hear them though, and instead, looked at my hands on the table. They were sure enough, still my hands, but I needed more. The tumbled glass was in my bag, but the cubbies seemed so far away from the table that I wasn’t sure if I could get up without melting into the floor. I brought my hands under the table, and pressed my fingers against the bits of exposed, unfinished wood, the bolts holding the table legs to the top. Not painfully, but enough to remind me that I was still present.

When I looked up again, Martin had managed to drag Jon into the break room to grab his mug of tea.

Jon, who was just as surprised to see me and Ollie, as we were to see him outside of his office. He muttered something under his breath, sitting down at the table- was this the first time I’d ever seen him sitting at that table?

“I was hoping to get a hold of you before this,” Jon said quietly, forehead in his hand. 

Ollie frowned at him, “What do you mean?”

He looked up for a moment and motioned to me, “When you said that you needed to look through the things you signed, I didn’t realize it then, but none of the others had been sent anything like that. As far as we were concerned, you all would just come here, help out, and leave.”

I hummed quietly, “So, could we just… quit?”

Jon looked away for a moment, “There’s, oh Christ, we don’t know what but there’s something preventing it.”

“Something’s preventing us from leaving?” Martin asked, taking a moment to sit down as well.

“A few weeks ago, Tim wanted to quit. I wanted to fire him. Neither of us could do it, and we didn’t know why,” his face turned a little pink as he regaled the discussion, or at least a summary of it as though the embarrassment or shame of his behavior was catching up to him. He looked at me, “And I think that’s why you said you didn’t want to leave yet.”

“That, that doesn’t make any sense,” I protested.

Ollie sighed, “Neither do sentient worms, secret tunnels, corpses in said tunnels, or randomly appearing doors.”

After a moment, we all had the same question in our minds, but only I voiced it: “What now?”

“I’m going to take a moment outside,” Jon muttered and walked to the cubbies where his jacket was hanging. He reached into the pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, “When I get back, we can talk about, I don’t know- work assignments, I suppose. For the time being though, feel free to sit around to gather yourselves. Elias will just have to be patient today.”

In the time it took for him to be out of the break room and off to smoke, I had already begun to question any hidden meanings in what he was saying. I looked up at Ollie, “Should, I mean- Should we  _ not _ do that? Am I taking it too literally?”

They shook their head, “Nah, besides, if he wanted you to do something else then he should be specific about it.”

“Oh, okay.”

Martin stood then, “I guess, I’ll tell Tim?” He didn’t seem sure of his suggestion, but I imagined that being around my anxious energy was probably beginning to get to him, which was fair. He glanced towards us, “Welcome aboard, I guess.”

Ollie and I gave a bit of a shrug, and then we were alone again. They groaned, “Man, God really did take one look at us and say, ‘let’s take these dumbasses down a peg or two’, yeah?”

I snorted my tea, spraying a bit outward and they were already grabbing the napkins so I could wipe it up, “Fuck dude, I don’t know why that was so funny.” I coughed, unsure if the next sound out of me would be another laugh or a sob.

They flashed a sympathetic smile and started to wipe down the table while I dabbed at my sweater, “Because everything’s a fucking disaster right now. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I was beginning to expect that waiting outside of someone’s office was just going to be my perpetual state of being, but I had no time for existential dread. I raised my hand to knock but was distracted by whistling down the hall. For a second I worried that maybe another ‘door’ had appeared and I was being taunted, but no, it was Tim rounding a corner with all of his things- probably going home for the day.

He waved at me, wearing a faint expression of sympathy, “What are you doing?” He asked.

“Building up the courage to do a socialize.”

He blinked for a moment before understanding, “Ah, got it. Look, if you work here now I’m going to tell you one thing, do not stay late. Ever. I don’t care who tells you what- it’s not healthy. Besides, Jon insisted that we go home early today because he’s ‘not feeling well’.” Even without the air quotes, the tone of his voice indicated sarcasm.

I sighed, “I bet, but really I just needed-” I wrinkled my nose and looked around, “Is Jon smoking in the office?” I asked. I faintly smelled cigarettes, a smell that was oddly comforting when I thought of home.

Tim chuckled, “Yeah right, he’s more likely to use a Leitner as a pillow, always going on about ‘sources of ignition’ in the archives.”

I shook my head, knowing what I was smelling, “But I smell cigarette smoke. Oh, wait, sorry, you probably smoke.”

“Nah, not really my thing.”

I nodded slowly, wondering if my assumption that Tim was with Jon for a smoke break was correct, “How’s the weather outside? Surprised you didn’t get rained on.”

His cheerful expression fell to one of slight annoyance, but he began to move again. “You know what- I have things to attend to and discussions to avoid and all, by the way, you should probably just head home while the opportunity is still there.”

I opened my mouth to argue but Tim was already knocking on Jon’s door and hurrying down the hallway, wearing a mischievous grin along the way.

“Tim, you-!”

“ _ Can I help you? _ ”

I spun around to hear footsteps approaching the door, having the afterthought to maybe wonder if I shouldn’t have poked fun at Tim hanging out with Jon during a cigarette break, but not enough time to address it as the door in front of me opened. Something about his demeanor had shifted since I’d last seen him that morning, like he was not quite energetic, but rattled.

“Hi, Jon, can I speak with you for a moment?”

He looked mildly annoyed but I didn’t care much to take it to heart at least in that moment, and he moved to the side so I could enter his office.

“I wanted to ask if you found anything out, about the um, the NotThem?” I asked, folding my arms in my lap when I sat in the chair across his desk.

He grumbled something, but I paid it little mind, “Actually, I think I did. But I don’t know if it’s amounted to much, so I might stay behind.”

I nodded, “I wish I could offer something, but Sasha is almost never around when I am.”

Jon stumbled a bit at that, “How do you mean? You both work for the archives, we’re not exactly a huge team.”

I thought about that for a moment, because it  _ didn’t  _ make sense, I just never thought to question it before. Kept my head down and did the work, waiting to go back. But, there wasn’t much of a ‘back’ to go to, so once I had to really  _ think _ about the workplace, a lot of things seemed pretty wrong. 

Aside from the glaringly obvious wrongs, though.

At first I assumed Sasha’s avoidance of me was more circumstantial; we just had opposite schedules or something of the like. Then of course, I worried that maybe she didn’t like being around me because I was a hassle. That my hearing impairment was too much for her to work with- it wouldn’t have been the first time coming from a coworker, so while it was a little hurtful, it just became another  _ thing _ atop the pile of  _ things that I felt bad about;  _ something to dwell on in between my guilt of expecting my aunt and uncle to try and learn sign language and making Ollie pick up the labor of my mistakes. I didn’t share any of that with Jon. 

Jon shook his head, “It doesn’t matter, we’ll figure it out later. For now though, you and Ollie should just go ahead and go home for the evening. I uh, I imagine this morning was a bit distressing.”

I thought to counter it but decided not to. I wanted to lay down and not think about whatever employment hellscape I just found myself in. For the first time that day, I found myself seriously thinking about the rest of everything else that came with the job. I wasn’t sure if the Institute was going to pay for the share-house any longer, so Ollie and I needed to find a place to live soon, and I could only hope that the Institute would have enough mercy on us to give us enough time to find somewhere. And deep down, I knew that I wouldn’t have a true reaction to everything until much later when I have to be faced with the reality of my mistakes. 

I wished Jon a good evening and went to the break room to grab my things.

“Elias actually did tell me that we’d need to find new living accommodations, so at least he was upfront about that,” Ollie said, as they scrolled through their phone for any apartment listings in the area. It was actually pretty expensive, so we would have to move out a little further from the ‘desirable’ neighborhood if we wanted to find a place that wouldn’t eat up most of our paychecks.

I reached into my back pocket to see what exactly needed to be done to finalize the move- thinking that calling Lizzie would be the next best move to let her know what was happening and that I wouldn’t be coming back to the apartment in the states. 

I stopped dead in my tracks, reaching into my other back pocket, and then to my front pockets before groaning tiredly.

Ollie stopped too, looking back at me, “What is it?”

“I forgot my fucking phone in my desk.”

“Nice one, bro,” they deadpanned, “Let’s head back then.”

I mentally berated myself, but at least I had caught it before the train. I would’ve been very annoyed to not only have to deal with the loud station, but also to have to walk all the way back to the Institute. It was better that I found out then, only a few minutes out, than closer to home.

We were mostly silent, both too done with the day to really talk as we entered the Institute again. Ollie had to unlock the doors, as Rosie and most of everyone else had already gone home or were on their way.

I made sure to be quick as I ran into the office to open my desk, and sure enough my phone was there. I rolled my eyes at myself and shoved it into a pocket before emerging into the hallway. Ollie, who I was certain had stayed behind at the entrance, was standing right in front of the office door. I started to ask them why they didn’t wait, but they held a finger to their lips. I closed my mouth and listened.

There was the ventilation system, the faint humming of artifact storage down the hall, a few footsteps and hushed whispers- ah, there it was. I frowned at Ollie, because I wasn’t sure if I was hearing it right. I finger-spelled ‘T I M and M A R T I N’ with a raised eyebrow, and they nodded.

“- _ ȍ̴̼̩͝n̵͍̫̉’̶̣͌t̷̯͊ ̴̙͖̇k̶̠̦͑̄n̴͚̐ǒ̵̻w̸͉̿̋,̴̩̌ͅ ̷͚̲̆M̶̖̂a̷̮͎͒ṛ̷̏̾t̴̰̙͊͊i̶̫̭͌n̴͚̤͑̃!̴̟̈͝ ̴̨̃̚I̸͇̣̽ ̶̪̋t̶̫̅h̸̳̆i̶̜̖̊̈n̵͈̞̓k̶͔̠̈́ ̸͉ḫ̶̾͋e̷͎̪͐’̸̛͙̃s̸̛̳̔ ̶̼̼̔g̸̙̅̓ő̷̱͂i̸̻͑n̴̹̖̈͝g̵͍̏̇ ̸̘͝f̸̠̑ű̵̜͋l̷̨͓͐̐l̸̠̯̂͊y̵͓͌̍ ̶͕̑̅͜ȏ̴̞̐f̶̭̭̓f̶̈̄͜͜ ̸̡̼͒͝t̷̩̅ḣ̴͖ě̶̬̤ ̸̧͍̑̎d̸̩͠e̷͗͜ę̴̫͋͑p̶̖̾ ̴̯̀̂ę̷̓̔n̸̞̥̿͝d̸̲͎͐,̸͉̼͆͝ ̶̣͂̓ḯ̴͔͝s̸̠̑ ̶͍̼͠w̸̞͆h̶̖͝͝a̶̞̘͗t̵͈͝ ̸̧͈̈́̈́I̴̛̜̗ ̴̘̐t̷̥́h̴̄̅͜i̸͎̋n̵̡̥͒k̷̫̋.̷͉̏ ̸̣̭̂İ̶̗̤̄f̷̤̈́͝ ̴̬̖̓h̷̘̔e̵̢̗͋ ̷͕͈̚h̶̯͝a̵͈̓̚ͅs̷̖͎̾ñ̴̮’̶̻͆̈́t̴͚̎̕ ̶̬̼̈́͝ _

_ a̸̘̜̿̋ļ̶̹̐͒r̴̯̀͠e̶̥̊̉a̵̩̬͋̒d̴͉̮͒ÿ̴̭.̴͉͐.” _

I recognized that as Tim’s voice, but what he was saying was fairly obscured. It didn’t take long though, to know that something was up and it might have had something to do with Jon. Following Ollie down the way, I kept thinking that I was hearing something faint- like inside the walls or in the ventilation shafts. But, I never heard it before in the month I’d been working there.

_ Thump! _

I looked around, but Ollie was moving forward down the hall slowly, trying to find them without being seen. They either didn’t hear it or weren’t reacting to it.

_ Thumpthumpthumpthump- _

That wasn’t the ventilation system, but that thought came too late as there was a crash around the corner. Ollie pulled me back as I started to run forward- wait, no, no! Martin and Tim were screaming and running- why were we running away? They needed help!

_ “J̷̢̗̫̬̻͔̹͆̉̓̆o̶̧͓͐̆o̸̫̹̱̼͔̦̊̈́̌̈̄o̶̳̥͖̯̺̥̊ô̷̹̹̻͚̿͆̂͘͜ǫ̶̭̝̰̽͗̑̏̊̾͐o̵̹̹̼̖͇͐̂̚o̶͙̮̻̤̤̪̻̓n̴̖͇͎͚͆̈́̍̂̆̿̊,” _ the voice was so horribly distorted but I knew it didn’t belong to either of our friends, but it sounded like it was emitting an almost musical, or taunting tone.

There was a whirring of electrical hums, as though the door to artifact storage was opened, and left open because I couldn’t hear anything over the lights or the thumping of my heart. Faintly, if I tried hard enough, I believed that I could hear Martin and Tim breathing heavily. Whatever it was that scared them, was probably gone.

Ollie moved around me and to the corner leaning over just a touch.

Voices, discussing something, but I couldn’t tell what. I just waited for Ollie to communicate anything to me, but all they did as they listened in where we were hidden, was keep their hand up like they were telling me to wait.

“Ẇ̸̙͜e̴̯̽̔̉ ̶̢̰̮̹̃c̷̠̬̹̳̓a̴̡̮͑̈́̅n̶̠͒'̸͇͌̎t̴̩̰͚̄̏ ̶̞̖͕̊̀̂j̶̗̠̕u̶͎̤̎͒̾s̷̨̧̧̼͆̉t̵̛̥̀̊ ̴̘̣̣̝̔̋̕l̸̪̣̃̓͑̒ë̶̢̛͕̮́̊a̷̩̰̪̔͑̚v̶̢̈́̊̒͘e̷͚̾̋ ̵̼ḧ̸̼́į̷̨̛͓͇̐͋̕m̶̢̡̲̌͆.”

“W̷̧͕̮̣͒͝h̶̬͒̎̌̚a̴͎̠̐t̴͍̰͆ ̷̠̗̩̔d̵̜́͆̃͠o̴̮͇̔̓͐͘ ̶͓͚͖̩̓̂̓ẙ̴͉͕̖̖̏̅ȯ̷̗̜͎u̶͔͔̖̩͒̀̚͠ ̷̧̛̳̿̾p̵̺̼̪̭̾r̵͓̔o̸̰̾p̴̫͙̥̈́ǒ̷̤̓s̸̝̩̳̋́̅͠ė̴̡̘̩̯,̴̬̼̭̳̒͂͘ ̶̟̈́M̷͖̳͗̆a̷̢̢̠̋̾̾ͅr̴͎̥̍t̶̤́͊͝ị̸̬̚n̴̤̓͛͝,̴͚̰ ̴̜̜͙̐̉̈́̄g̴͈͂͐ó̵̧̝ ̵̧̯͍̳̇͛̍d̶̨̍̒͘ǫ̵̓͘ẇ̶͕̆̓̓ṅ̷̲̫̲̳͑ ̶͈̯̗̅̓t̷͉̐̐ḧ̷̘͙́͘ë̵̜́r̷̛̤̠̫̟͆e̷̡̜̙̝̓̈͝ ̸̗̃̃í̸̡̛̹̹̊̍n̷̩̼͇̒̑ͅ ̵̨̱͚̺̍a̵͈̖̟̅̃̑ ̶̡̬͍̖͐s̶͎͍͈̅̓u̵̠̬̠̾͗͊̊ȋ̸̧̥ͅt̶̤̽͆͑́ ̶̼̜̤̽̄̍̄o̵̝̩̒f̶͙̬̰͛̉̈́͠ ̸̯̹̪̭͛͆a̶̝͈̽͝r̶̞̍̽̈́͘m̸͚̱̹̈́͋̔́ỏ̴͎͍͎r̵̢̤̿͠ ̸͍̖̊͛̀̕t̷̙̗̮̊̌͝ͅo̴̧̢̻͗͐ ̶̖̤̈́͆̃͝s̴̡̱̉͊͜ǎ̵̤̤̱̳̾̈́v̴̛̦̬è̷̮̩̝̱̊̔ ̷̹̌͛̊̏h̸̲̒̆̌̔i̵̛̝̻͌̿m̴͍̼̭̈́̈͝ͅ?̴͕͈̘̂”

“I̶͓̰͌̂͌̿'̶̡̙͙̈́̅̓̈́ṃ̵̛͈͒̕̚ ̵̞͍̏͋̂g̵̯̅o̴̮̼̎̿i̶͕̱͉͗ň̷̠̹͓g̷̘͇̩̪̊̔̊̇.”

“M̷̯̂̆͂a̶̡̼̻͌̓̌ṙ̴̝̳̐̀t̸̨̪̓̉͜į̸̜̒̆͛n̴̛͎̈́̈́,̷̥̊͜ ̵̯̈I̴̖͌-̴̬̑̃͂.̵̪̳̳͠ ̴̨̧̰̥̃̚͝͝D̸̢̚a̷̡͐ḿ̷̪̝͙̿̐͊͜n̶͙͌̈́͘ ̵̼̹͔̤́̈́̒i̷̫͂͛̌̕t̵̡͙̼̪͌,̵̠̄̈̏͘ ̴̼̪̼̲̓̓̍f̶̥͌i̶̝̿̒̐͝n̷̡̹̺͙̈̓̔̚é̴̛̝̤̂.̷͈͑̏̆͝"̵̡͍̓̑̽.”

A door closed, and the humming fell quiet. Ollie stepped out and motioned for me to follow.

I stepped out and saw the wreckage of whatever came through- a door was busted open, chunks of wood splintered outward where the door was still attached to the frame. But, there were no bodies or blood, so I took what comfort I could from that. I looked at Ollie and signed ‘What happen?’

They spelled Martin and Tim’s names, and pointed to artifact storage. The door there was a little worse for wear but was still on its hinges. There was no other place for them to go in there other than the tunnels, and I signed ‘below’ to Ollie who nodded.

They came close so they could whisper, “We need to follow them.”

I shook my head vehemently, “What? No, we have to go get help-”

“From where? The cops? They’re not gonna fucking believe us, at least if we can catch up to Martin and Tim we might stand a chance to whatever the fuck  _ that _ was. A normal human can’t really bust down a door like that without some serious help.”

My head turned from the door to artifact storage to Ollie’s face, and finally nodded. I trusted Ollie, and I trusted their quick-thinking. I certainly wasn’t going to go crawling to Elias for help if I couldn’t trust him to be honest about anything else.

We opened the door to artifact storage, and in the back, like where Lizzie said it was, was the entrance to the tunnels- so dark it looked like a black hole in the wall. If I listened hard enough, I wondered, would I be able to hear the thing that called out Jon’s name? I stopped trying though, content with the decision that I didn’t want to hear the painful, confusing tones and hums.


	10. there's no easy way out, there's no shortcut home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter deals a LOT with Michael/The Distortion's nonsense, the ending of season 2, and a big heaping dose of grieving the loss of a parent
> 
> alright, now i STRONGLY suggest that you listen to some of these songs because i feel like they accompany the vibe really well, they're mentioned in the fic but I'm gonna list them here for your convenience:  
> -That House by Dance With The Dead  
> -Unspoken by The Dead Daisies feat. Dance With The Dead  
> -Scar by Dance With The Dead  
> -No Easy Way Out by The Protomen  
> -Trooper by The Protomen  
> ALSO the song referenced in the ending paragraph is 'Fibratus' by I Built The Sky

To say the tunnels were dark would be an understatement.

Of course they were, with the only light coming from artifact storage and from Ollie’s phone. I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting, but the dirt floor and walls were the only thing I was right about. Every undefined measurement or so, would be a support beam above us, sturdy and wooden, but very old in appearance. I had to remind myself that anything in London would probably be significantly older than in the states, and at least preserved since there had actually been world wars in Europe. I was more anxious about the state of artifact storage than I was about the tunnels though.

We didn’t see it upon opening the door, but when we descended the stairs, we saw while passing a tall shelf- the remains of a long wooden box. I vaguely remembered it being mentioned in a statement but not much beyond that, though I was beginning to really dislike past me for being so apathetic about them. It was hard, walking through those tunnels, to think about the future but I told myself that I would be better about taking them more seriously if we made it out. I already missed the break room where I had thrown my backpack so it wouldn’t drag me down, but Ollie still shouldered theirs with little issue.

Their hand tightened around mine, and I looked up from the dirt flooring. The hum of the fluorescents had faded significantly, and the echoes weren’t so overpowering that I couldn’t hear what I assumed them to be hearing as well.

It was Martin and Tim. They weren’t being loud about it, but they were arguing about something- probably Jon. 

Ollie tugged me along, thankfully able to tell which branch of the tunnel they could hear the two bicker from. Even I could tell that we were getting closer to finding them until suddenly I couldn’t.

Ollie was frozen in place and I wanted to ask them why we stopped but I couldn’t think over the ringing in my ears- the almost static-like cotton plugs burrowing and blocking out anything.

“Ï̵͉̜̻̲͛͐͊͠'̸̢̜̺̣̠̝͔͋̉̌̚͜m̴̢̭͇̥͉̝͙͌͛̎͑͝ͅ ̴͇̠̤̓̒̄͘M̴̨̮̥͇̠̩̹͍̆̓̊͋̄̊̕͜ḯ̵̼͕̌͊̏̌̓̏͝c̶̪̺̮̦̬̣̩͔̪͑̈͐̕͠͝ḧ̶̨̪̝̫̼͇͔̫́̏̾̓̃͊͆͜â̶̰̤̝͇͛̿ͅę̵̙͍̮̱̖̆̓̃̅l̷̼̼̦̫̝̹͘͠,̷̼͍̾͒́̋͊̌͒͂ ̷̢͉̯̩̬̰̙̈́̌̅͘ͅd̵̗̬̫̥̲̓̂̑į̵̟̻̻̘̣̫̻̉̄̉̈́̕͝d̸̯̈́͒̃̓ ̷͓̯͉̠͓́t̵͈̿͘h̶̨̢̻̖̱͔͔͇̋͒͒̔̋̇̈́ë̶̺̬͚͔͜͝ͅ ̵̧̘̗͓̘̮͈̭̎Ä̸̝͇̳́͒̈́̚ͅr̸̡͔͚̟̞͉͙̽̉̐̏̉͝͝ĉ̶̨̭̘̆̎̓̕͝ḩ̵̪͕̩̦̯̗̳̏̇̾̕̚í̸̞̜̖̖͚̐͋̂͒͝͝͝v̸̼͕̫͖̲̬̀̽i̵̡̞̎͒̃̑̄̀ş̷̙͔̗͉͚͈̺̹͒̓̇̓t̸̨̲͔͖͈̺̙̗̾͝ ̸͍̯̝͔̹̫̰͑̾͊͗n̶͍̰͓̞̟͔͆̿̈́̚o̸̢̤̝̠̻͈̬̞̔̒̕͝͝t̸͔̩̖̣͇̺͉̑̈́͊̿̍̒ ̶͙͇͎̪̭͉̲̖͌̃̾͋̚t̵̢͚͈͙͚͐̽͑e̶̛͕̰̳̘̳̩̦̿̇̎̉͌̒̈́͜͝l̶̨̧͎̤̦̖̰̩̥̏͆̿͐͐͌ļ̶̡̣̞̬̗͒̿ ̴̨̠̳̱̗͋̏̂͠y̷̱̣̝̯̻͌͒̽̋͘̚͝o̶̜̖̞͈͇͚͈̔͒̓͊u̸̮͔͕̹͈͓͔̰͙͗̍̂̓̔̈́ ̵̱͑a̵̢̞͉͇͍̯͔̗̤͛b̸̘͙̩̦̈̊̚ö̶̧̨̰͎́̿͝ų̶̨̭͓̲͖̞͓̄̂̒ͅt̴̹̗̣͙͔͝͠ ̵̧͔̳͎̫̻̲̌̋̑̄͝m̵̬̒̇ȅ̴͍̺̺͒͝?̶̠̮͔͍̪̜̹̭̥̿̑̓̀͂̑̂̕͝ ̸͙̬̫̤̩͕͕̂͒͋̃̋̕͜O̵̧͎͙̥͛̈́ř̸̠̜̻̣̖̲͛͘͝ͅͅ ̴̡̥͎̭̯͊͆͛w̸̭̰̰̌ͅh̶͉̱̜̮̭̙͔̒͑̽͗á̶̩̒͋̊̈́̉̈́̚t̶̘͇͈̏̋̽̃͜ ̶̧̢̛̝͔̬̗͐͛̇̓̿͌ä̶̛͓͕́͜b̷͖͇̗͍̩̩̖̪́̀̓̅ơ̴̩̣͐ư̷͔̯͉̥̘̫̿̓͋̄͛̚͠t̴͔̗̲̟̗̽̿̽̂͝ ̵̮̦̹̭͙͔̤̙̮̽͒̈́̕y̶̡̬̠͙͓̫̼̑̈́͆̀͌̀͜ͅơ̸̡͈̝̦̮̘̍̉̅͒̍̚͝u̷̪̘͖̓̆̈͌͗̽r̴̛͈̱̯̝̪̉̆̑̒͗͂̈͗ ̷̨̩͍̪͕̺̿̾̀̈́̚n̷͍̱̝̈́̊̄̽͘ȅ̷̢̗̝̲̮͖͕̟̥́̊̿͋ẃ̸̺͕̬̞͉̭͓̹̔͐̔͌̊̕ ̷̡̳̥̮̏͗ͅf̷̨̐́r̸̬̱̋͒̅͆̕ȉ̶̟̲̫̬̎̏̽e̶̞̺̘͇͌n̴̘͆͆͆̓̀̆͘d̷̨͇̣̳͓̠̺ͅ ̸̳͋̔̂͛f̵̟̋̆r̸͇̼͚̝̠̽́̅̌͊̈́̕͝ͅͅo̴̯̦̠̹͂͂͋́͐͘̚m̸̢̨̟̝͉͍̏̏̉̽̓͊ͅ ̵̧͓͚̙̤̜̙͚̋̎ä̵̳̫̗̬̍͑̔̈́̚͠c̵̘̠͓̰͆̕r̴͕͌͛̿͋o̵̧̤̜͒͛̆͂̔͒̆͝s̵͈͍̤̲̳͒̐͘s̴͇̃̿̅ ̵̩̹̖̙͒t̶̝̊̂̚͝ḣ̸͇͕̣̉̚ë̴̛̩͚̯͐̔̔̈́͜͝ ̵̗̳͖̽̽p̶̧͈̝͈̦̔̋̾̌o̵͓̪̾̈́̃͋̾͝ṋ̴̢̬͍͎̹̦̞̄͑d̸̞͈̈́̾̃̑̅̊͂͝?̵̨̯̼̩͎͈̜̫̙͊͒”

I shook my head like I could jostle the feeling out of my ears, but it was no use. I couldn’t hear anything over a voice that sounded like it shouldn’t exist, piling onto itself and making my ears ring.

Beneath the Bad Sounds, I heard Martin and Tim screaming again and I barreled forward, not stopping to see if Ollie was following me. What if whoever busted down the door had found them and was trying to hurt them? What if they came after us next- and then what after that?

I blinked through tears as I ran, stopping only when a flash of uncomfortable colors materialized before me. Painful to look at, but from the feet up, I recognized the being before me because I had seen his face in the mirror before breaking it.

His lips were moving, but I didn’t hear a word of what he was saying. I heard noise, all wrong and impossible to make sense of, but the words might as well have not had any meaning to them.

There was a sudden grip on me and I turned around to see Ollie heaving for breath, something on their lips said ‘Idiot’, but I turned back around to address Michael.

“Where are they?” I asked.

He began to speak again, but I couldn’t hear him over the thrum of some kind of bubble around my ears. It wasn’t even like trying to hear underwater, or the words jumbling up in my head before I could make sense of him. Trying to hear him speak was like wading through thick mud- something in my brain was tiring out before I could even start to try to make sense of the way his voice overlapped itself. What little I could understand, just wasn’t English. And not like he was speaking in another language, but as though I was listening to someone make up sounds and syllables with the same intonation that would be used in English.

His lips, though somewhat uncoordinated and unmatching with the sounds, did look like they were forming words.

“Where are they?” I asked again.

He tilted his head slightly, eyebrows raised just a touch like he was almost amused.

“Y̷̡̥̺̖͂̄̈́o̷͌̈ͅŭ̸̙ ̶̹̞͒̈͘͠k̶̥̈͛̐̽n̴̰̖̻̠̿o̴͖̊͗ͅw̵̛͓͕̓͝ͅ ̸̖̫̖́͝w̵̡̧͓̖͆̈́͗h̵͓̝͗̕e̶̘̗̽̉̍ͅr̵͔̠͙̫͆̓ẹ̸̥̒̏͗,” I wondered if the audio and visual cues matched up- if I would be able to understand him without the impairment or if for once, the visual, auditory, and language processing centers of my brain would actually work for me. What I could understand though, was that Michael was taunting me, his mouth moving around the words ‘You know where’.

“Take us to them,” I demanded.

He shook his head, smiling unnaturally wide, and opened his mouth to speak but I interrupted him, probably louder than I needed to be but I didn’t care.

“I saw you in the mirror. If I find them, you take them out and you can have me.”

Ollie’s grip on my forearm tightened painfully and I might have heard them protest, but Michael seemed to like that deal. He nodded his head to the side, where a bright, highlighter pink door stood. I ignored Ollie’s protests and walked through.

At first, I thought the weight on top of me was suffocating, like the moment I walked through would kill me and Michael let me waltz on through without telling me so he wouldn’t have to make good on his end.

But I smelled apple and cinnamon and the weirdly unscented-but-still scented deodorant that Ollie and I shared because we kept forgetting to buy a second stick. I sucked in an achy, desperate breath. 

I opened my eyes and immediately closed them, overwhelmed by the bright and the patterns and the sounds-

“C̶̖̮͙̖̲͂̾̈́͒̀͜ȍ̴̼̫͚̊̾͝s̸̨͈͈̖̗̩̎̾ḿ̵̛̺̝̬̠͑͋̏̚ẹ̸̖͂̄̈́̊̕̚?̸͙̩͉̼̼͑ͅ ̷̜̳̥͉͝F̷͕͕̩͚͎̅̒̊͊ṳ̷͂̒̈̂̂̋c̶̯̺͇̮͚͓̋͆̒k̸͙̞̥͉̋͐͑̅,̴̧̖̠̟̦̃ ̷̣̹̄̈̐C̶̭̪̞̀̿̋̋̅͠o̶̧̧̟̻͈̓̅̔̌͊̓ͅs̵̨͓̘̼̩͒ͅm̴͔͙̼̭̅̔͗́̎e̸̢̛̗͖̎̃̚,̴̙̾ ̴̲̺̓c̷̝͎͕̔̆a̶̡̼̙̫̓͗͝͠n̸̖̉̚ͅ ̷̪̺̍ŷ̶͚̙̗̺͂͂o̸͓̮̦̜̫̳̿u̵̧̮̪̺͎̦̇ ̶͇̼̠̘̿ḣ̶̛̦͈̜̳̌̽̈́̌ẽ̵͍a̷̩͔̓r̷̩͚̣̆̓̑͒̃ ̵̬̏́̾̕͘m̸̢̪͖͝e̷͚͈̩̠̿̇͝?̴͔̈̌̆̿ ̸̢̣̪̅͊A̵̧̠̪̰̘͒̌r̷̛̗̙̅e̷̹̙̹̟̩͝ ̸͈̠̅͑y̶̭̾̔̃̓ỡ̵̢̞̪̦̤̓̊ͅù̴̗͔͚̱͖̩ ̸̩̿̿̀͛̆̋a̴̧̛̙̻̫̻͘w̷̞̝͚̥̱̋̀̓a̵̖̩̳̩̲̕͜͝k̶̦̲̂͛͂͝e̵̹̹͛͂̚̕?̸͙͕͎̜͛͗͝”

The rhythmic weight on my chest lifted almost immediately, and I tried to sit up- feeling dizzy the moment I was moved upright. I at least recognized the sound of Ollie’s voice, even if it was almost completely drowned out by everything else. How could lights and air and the dull scraping of my body moving on the carpet be so loud? The mismatch of sensation alone was dizzying, so much that I couldn’t watch Ollie shuffle away on their knees because the sound of their jeans on the carpet didn’t line up with the movement itself. 

Gentle hands cradled my face, turning my head from side to side like I was being examined. Finally, a hand reached into my front pocket and then there were sunglasses on my face.

I opened my eyes, still unpleasant but bearable. I could make do with bearable.

But the most painful thing was the look on Ollie’s face. Even with the dimmed sight provided by the sunglasses, I could see their eyes; red, puffy and irritated. Shame washed over me and I looked down, voice hoarse as I mumbled an apology for scaring them. I didn’t think they would run after me, not when I charged into the door headfirst like a man with a plan.

They shook their head and trying to read their lips left me with the word ‘Later’.

Later; we could talk about it later.

In the meantime, Ollie slung their bag over their shoulder and helped me to my feet. They made a face of faint recognition and handed me the headphones on the floor, still plugged into my phone and faintly playing from my work playlist.

“C̸͍̳̅a̴̩͖͓͗͐̉͝n̸̡̛͍̘͛̈́ ̷̻͇̟̺y̶̠̏͠o̶̖̽̌͊̉u̸͓̘̳̇͆̅ ̸̖͉͔̳̊ř̴̤̭̖̩͝ȩ̷͓̦͠͝a̸̬̺̯̐̈́d̸̝̭̭̞ ̸̧͊m̸̢̺͕̞̏̔͋̓y̴̛̹̰̎͑ ̴̞̘̖͍͌̎͗ĺ̴͇i̵̝̩͇̜͌̈́̈́p̴͚̎͊s̵͇̗̉̿͝?̸̰̹̩͗̔̔”

I squinted, guessing fairly well what they were asking me but it wasn’t easy. They nodded slowly and instead began to sign to me, ‘Music’ and ‘Help’, ending with an inquisitive face.

I brought the headphones to my ears, and it was almost magical how easily the visual clutter seemed to dissipate when I turned up the volume. ‘That House’ by Dance with The Dead began to drown out the excessive stimuli and I couldn’t help the relieved smile as the music became grounding. Everything around me was still chaotic, but the blaring music allowed me to focus on something static and predictable. I listened to that band in college on repeat just to make it through midterms and finals- I knew the songs almost as well as I knew how to speak; in some cases,  _ better _ . I looked up and pointed to them, hoping that it was clear what I was asking- how were they holding up in Michael’s domain?

They paused for a minute, closing their eyes like they were checking again, before signing ‘difficult’ and then ‘O K’ in a kind of shrugging motion. I could only guess that meant that they were about as good as I was without needing the auditory and visual assistance.

I nodded, and signed ‘find’, ‘friend’, and ‘now’. A bit of a mouthful, or rather handful, but me speaking it seemed to help Ollie. I made a mental note to think about learning proper sign language and not the handful of vocabulary words to get by.

They sighed, and nodded in agreement, taking my hand again as we picked a direction and began walking.

We walked for some time, but I was sure it didn’t matter in a place where everything felt unreal. Anyone who went in the door probably experienced time differently, but I tried to not dwell on it because the thought of walking out on the other side many years later wasn’t a pleasant one. I didn’t know enough about the corridors to start making assumptions either; all I knew was that it was a sensory experience from hell. 

I was grateful for the sunglasses and headphones, because my entire body felt like it was being electrocuted with a tingly current; not debilitating, but impossible to ignore. I couldn’t focus on anything for too long, only able to recognize the feel of Ollie’s hand in mine and the music still playing from my headphones.

Ollie paused, careful to not let the large bag at their side swing as they turned to face me, “C̴̟̍ȯ̸̫͂ͅs̵̭̮m̸͎̈͆e̶̦̕,̶̢͙̾ ̷͓̑I̴̼̦͑̓ ̸̟̓ĥ̵̫̰ā̶̻v̵͉̚ë̴͖ ̴̩͍̈́͘a̵̦͂͛͜n̸̡̕ ̶̮̘̇̚ȋ̶̹̋d̴̦͕̆͝e̸͖͇̿̆ä̴̞̻́̅.”

I nodded, only barely able to understand what they were saying. It was better than trying to listen to Michael talk- I couldn’t hear a single word he said when we finally met face-to-face. Though, later Ollie would insist that I was happy not being able to hear his twisting tongue and spiraling logic. 

With their free hand, they pointed to my front pocket, where my phone was. I pulled my phone out and they reached into the side pocket of their bag to pull out an auxiliary cord and a mini speaker. I figured where they were going and unplugged my headphones, already disoriented by the rush of outside noises and colors. I connected the speaker and my phone with the cord and pressed play. It wasn’t much, but I could hear it under everything.

Instead, they made eye contact with me, and signed ‘loud’.

“Make it louder?” I asked for clarification.

They nodded enthusiastically, and it was enough encouragement for me to feel for the volume buttons, cranking  _ Unspoken  _ remixed by Dance with The Dead to the highest volume on both my phone and the speaker. The bass thumped with the beat of the song, almost vibrating my hand through the string attached.

The way everything around me began to shift made the anxiety nestled in my chest spike, but instead of shifting to nightmarish and confusing angles and doors, the hall began to straighten. Not by much, because I still couldn’t look at the carpets or wallpapers or mirrors for too long before I would begin to crumble, but I knew that I could place one foot in front of the other. There was a regular stimulus that I could focus on, allowing most of everything to fall into the background. Even better, Ollie had something to focus on so they could move easier too.

“G̴r̵o̵u̸n̴d̷i̵n̶g̷,̷ ̷i̶s̵n̴'̶t̵ ̵i̷t̶?̴” 

I looked at their face, able to read their lips properly and to a degree, somewhat understand what they were saying. I smiled, nodding.

They grinned back at me, “L̸e̷t̵'̵s̵ ̸f̸i̵n̷d̵ ̵T̸i̵m̷ ̷a̷n̷d̸ ̸M̸a̶r̸t̸i̵n̶,̷ ̵w̷e̴'̷r̷e̴ ̵g̵o̶i̸n̵g̴ ̵h̷o̶m̶e̵.” 

It wasn’t easy, trying to navigate the corridors, but it didn’t take long to understand certain patterns. Only sometimes would the walls around us shift, but still to something understandable, tangible but only just barely. 

We’d taken three right turns, and then a left before finding ourselves back where we started. Perhaps it was too presumptuous to think that, but I knew I recognized some of the pictures that Michael had ‘decorating’ the hallway. Even if they moved in a way that hurt my head, I remembered the colors, the way they weren’t framed compared to the others. I wondered if the frameless drawings were recent additions. There was a sort of deja vu feeling, nestled in the back of my head, as I tried to really remember why they looked familiar. Had I read about some of the pictures in the statements? I couldn’t even read the tags on the frameless drawings, the wrinkled paper messily tacked to the walls, but some of the letters were legible.

‘Ǵ̷͔̩͎̥̻̖̏̏̄Ȩ̵̻̹̾ ̶͔̫̯͆ ̸̼͕̖̗̋̏̾̄̕Y̸̡̱͚̟̺̣͑̃̀ ̷͍̩̼̲̭̈̂͝͝ ̷̡̧̛̛̖̥͉̃̋͜͠Ď̷̟̰̔̌͜ ̷̣̹̪͒̑L̴̪̲̻̪͙̉͗̽Ȁ̴̳̤̉N̴̻̠͗̐̉͆͘’

Ollie stopped, still holding my hand, and set their bag on the ground. The string on the end of the speaker buzzed with the changing beat of the music as my playlist changed to  _ Trooper _ covered by The Protomen. I didn’t think about how time moved then. 

I squeezed their hand, grabbing their attention before raising an eyebrow at their bag.

“D̵o̸ ̷y̵o̸u̷ ̷t̴r̷u̴s̵t̵ ̸m̵e̶?̵”

I nodded. Of course I trusted Ollie, and I would always.

They turned back to the bag, and unzipped it, revealing a large object made of sparkly, purple-pink resin. It was about the size of a bowling ball, but not shaped like one. The longer I looked at it, the more its shape started to make sense, first seeming jagged and then smoothing out into even spots with numbers. And then, I realized that I was looking at a giant twenty-sided die.

Ollie said something, but I couldn’t understand it, nor was I paying much attention when I realized that there was something inside the giant die… There was a shape within it, slowly coming into focus as I saw where the resin darkened in some places and paled in others. Two dark spots came into focus, and then the jawline, the teeth, the holes where the sinus cavities would be. I recognized the thing instantly.

Their father’s skull, which began to hum and vibrate, moving entirely on its own.

I called for Ollie, unsure if they could hear me, because I was legitimately afraid that I was beginning to lose my grip again.

They turned to me, “H̴e̷'̶l̷l̷ ̸h̵e̷l̶p̸ ̸u̷s̸.̷” As though waiting for their permission, the skull, or I guess, Mr. Evans slowly emerged from the bag on its (his?) own. Ollie looked at it (him?) and nodded, as though they were having a conversation. The edges around Mr. Evans rippled, like it was an effort to remain in existence for him. I had no idea what I was seeing, and Ollie seeing it too wasn’t really something that I took comfort in, in the corridors. It almost hurt to try and focus on him, like he was a blurred picture that my head couldn’t wrap itself around.

And then he turned away from us, shooting forward like a cannonball. I jerked at the sudden movement but heard nothing until he found something of interest, ramming himself into fragile glass.

I watched the mirror at the end of the hall shatter before I heard it, revealing another path to take. The sound of glass breaking and falling to the carpeted floor echoed on a loop.

Mr. Evans stayed at the new door he created, spinning so that the face of the skull was towards us, like he was waiting for us to catch up.

Ollie’s grip on my hand tightened as they picked up the large bag, much lighter without their father inside, and dragged me down the hall. The only thing keeping me present being the fact that I trusted Ollie, and they trusted me and their dad. I was confused, but I didn’t need to understand it at that moment. It was like gravity, I told myself, I didn’t understand what made it work no matter how many times it was explained to me. But still, it existed even if I couldn’t describe it.

We continued like that for some time. Mr. Evans would smash mirrors and find ways for us to navigate. And the mirrors wouldn’t rebuild or shift. I wanted to ask why, but I had a feeling that Ollie didn’t know why either.

Instead, I looked for any sign of Martin and Tim as we progressed. I didn’t expect Martin to drop little tea bags like breadcrumbs, but when we approached a mirror that was already broken and slowly forming back into its unbroken state, we knew we were getting close.

So close, that in some indeterminate amount of time, I began to hear voices under the eighties horror-synth metal playing from the speaker. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I recognized the argumentative tones to be coming from around the corner.

With only a mirror in between us and where we figured Martin and Tim to be, Mr. Evans made quick work of the fragile glass.

“  _ J̷̙͖̒͠e̷̮̩̋s̵̭̉̉u̴̘͉s̸̜͇͝ ̵̡̏̚ͅC̸͈̊h̵͇͛͂r̸͎̓i̷̊ͅs̶͇̃t̶̙̎!” _

_ “F̷͖̊ͅu̶̖̯̎c̸̙̘̓k̴͓͓̈́͆!” _

And there they were, standing in a hallway not much unlike the others, both exhausted and leaning on each other for support. Tim was sporting a makeshift bandage around the knuckles of his left hand, and I wondered for a minute if he tried breaking the mirrors that way or if he startled like I did days before.

“I̸ ̵t̶h̶o̷u̵g̸h̵t̴ ̴I̶ ̸h̵e̷a̶r̷d̴ ̴y̶o̵u̷r̷ ̶m̸u̴s̵i̶c̵,̴” Martin spoke, wearing a tired but relieved look. I kind of knew what he was saying but staying in Michael’s world was beginning to grate on me in a way that made me want to curl into a ball and disappear. I also knew that he was probably asking about the whole, you know, floating D20 skull, but I paid little mind to that. There would be time to explain later, because going home was more important.

“W̸e̴ ̷d̸o̷n̵'̷t̵ ̸h̵a̶v̸e̶ ̴a̶ ̶l̵o̶t̸ ̶o̷f̵ ̸t̸i̶m̸e̴,̵ ̵t̴h̸i̶s̶ ̴i̷s̵ ̴t̷a̵k̴i̷n̸g̷ ̵a̷ ̴l̵o̷t̸ ̶o̸f̸ ̵e̸n̶e̶r̷g̸y̶,” Ollie said, gesturing to their dad, floating beside them. 

_ No Easy Way Out _ covered by The Protomen rang through the corridors as Mr. Evans began busting more mirrors and then, something I didn’t expect to see, doors. Most of them led to nowhere, just a spread of the same wallpaper, others led to longer corridors that we steered clear of until we had no other option than to go down one.

But that one was different. It was, more? That wasn’t the best way to describe it, because it wasn’t more distorted, but rather more real. Our footsteps matched our pace, and when I inevitably would glance at a mirror, our reflections matched our bodies. I didn’t have to ruminate for long if the others could see the door at the end of the hallway, because Mr. Evans blasted into it, the air whooshing next to my ear in a way that just felt… normal. My senses weren’t sharper but running down that hallway with the others was the closest thing to reality I’d felt in some time. It was more alarming that Mr. Evans was clearer in that hallway, as solid and real as myself or Ollie; I wasn’t hallucinating him or his behavior. 

Mr. Evans pulled himself from the caved in door, and it fell open to reveal the tacky wallpaper, loose on its hinges. I couldn’t even process it fast enough to think of being sad because Mr. Evans began to bash himself into the wall, tearing at the wallpaper and making his own door until-

I fell to my knees on the rough and unforgiving hard dirt, comfortable to hear only our combined panting in the confines of the tunnels mixed with the beginning of an AC/DC song before the speaker hummed its exhausted protests and shut off.

We got out.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see that it was also dead, but Tim already had the flashlight on his phone turned on.

I blinked a few times, inhaling the dusty air and huffing a breath that might have been laughter, “Holy shit, did that really just happen?”

Ollie, who had been holding my hand with their iron grip, finally let go with their own laughing, “Jesus  _ Christ _ , we need new jobs.”

Martin groaned, “God, somehow I’m not surprised by any of what just happened.”

Tim leaned against a tunnel wall, taking a moment. I worried he was in shock until he finally spoke, “You know, the faithful cover of a 1970s American power ballad was a surprise. And the skull? Ollie, what the hell is that?”

They looked up from where they were sitting on the floor, gently coaxing their father back into their backpack. “I honestly don’t know if we have enough time,” They pointed upwards.

Very,  _ very _ faintly above us, were police sirens. The four of us exchanged a mostly tired look, accepting that we would have to deal with whatever would happen next and it wasn’t going to be fun.

“What do you think happened?” Martin asked.

Tim stared at the dirt ceiling, wearing a look of what I believed to be gentle resignation, “Fuck if I know, but it’s definitely not good.”

“Name?”

“Cosme Beneventi.”

“How old are you, Cosme?”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“Do you have any allergies?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Any neurological disorders?”

“Ah, um, it’s kind of hard to explain…”

The paramedic stared at me with a raised eyebrow, and so I had to summarize my entire life to this poor stranger trying to figure out why the hell my ears were bleeding and why I was saying that I didn’t have a seizure. I was pretty sure I didn’t, but I also had no idea what else it could’ve been. It wasn’t Michael’s doing, probably, since no one else in the tunnels had the same affliction. Or, maybe it was because I needed the sunglasses and music just to exist on the baseline everyone else was on.

They looked me over, unsure as to why I insisted that I only had a mild headache that was being exacerbated by the bright lights in the response vehicle and virtually no other symptoms. But, since I was coherent enough to answer their questions, they technically couldn’t force me to accept treatment. Instead I got a firm suggestion to find the nearest clinic should I begin to develop any symptoms of a severe concussion or any other brain related injury.

Reasonably speaking, I should’ve wanted treatment, even if everything was fine because once the paramedic was done looking me over, I had questions to answer.

Ollie gave me a sympathetic look as I passed them sitting on a bench outside, following some tired cop to be questioned.

What’s your name?

Where are you from?

Why are you here?

When did you start working here?

Do you know Jonathan Sims?

Do you think he is capable of murder?

I couldn’t help the disbelieving expression on my face and decided from then on that I would try to remain as stone faced as I could because they picked up on my shock.

“Could you please answer the question, Miss…ter? Beneventi.”

I sighed, “I mean, no? What kind of question is that?”

The man looked unamused by my question and went on anyway, “Do you believe he is under any illegal substances that might impair his judgement?”

I shook my head, feeling more insistent, “No.”

“Nothing?”

If it were anyone else asking me, I would’ve been more helpful or rather, nicer about my answers. But this dude gave me a bad vibe, and not in the way the kids said it. “Dude, what do you want from me? I literally just started working here full-time and I’m still waiting for my workplace accommodations to be accepted. I’m lucky if I hear my instructions for the day.” Perhaps being the least helpful I could be wasn’t the best decision in that moment, but I was fucking exhausted and I didn’t like the way his voice lathed around the title he attempted to use before my surname. 

He looked up at me finally, from his little pad and paper, wearing the same face he gave me earlier. He was looking for something, and I made sure he saw how tired I was. He spoke again, “Why were you hiding in that big storage room?”

“I don’t think it counts as  _ hiding _ when I  _ work here _ .”

“Answer the question.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what to tell you, we were just sitting there when you guys busted down the door.”

“And you didn’t hear anything?”

“Yeah, that kind of comes with the territory of having a hearing impairment- I can’t hear shit over the fluorescent lighting in there.”

He clicked his tongue and wrote something down. After a long pause, he looked up and grunted something but I didn’t hear him so I waited for him to actually speak up so I could.

With an exasperated tone and face to match, he told me that I would receive a phone call if they needed to ask me any more questions, but until then I was free to leave. I bit back the words I wanted to use and instead spat out a ‘thanks’.

I meandered back to where Ollie was sitting, jostling them slightly from their impromptu nap. The door spat us out in the tunnels where we went in, but several hours later and on top of the regular exhaustion of the day, I felt like I could melt wherever I stopped to rest for longer than a minute.

“Are you okay?” Ollie asked, looking to where the blood had dried down my neck and collar.

I shrugged, “I don’t have any of the symptoms of a severe concussion, or of any other brain injury so until I have symptoms, I guess I am okay.”

They nodded slowly, “I’m waiting for Martin and Tim to be done with questioning. I don’t know what they know, but the fuzz wouldn’t tell me anything other than ask me what I thought of Jon.”

I hummed, “Yeah, I got the same question. They asked if I thought he was capable of murder- did they ask you that?”

Ollie snorted, “Fuck, no? What the hell?”

“Beats me dude, but I told them that I didn’t think he could do it.”

They looked at me for a second, cocking their head to the side, “How do you know that so confidently?”

I sighed, feeling the night air wrap around my body. It was calming, almost like a cool blanket in a soft bed. But I couldn’t sleep then, no matter how tired I was.

“I guess I don’t, but the few times I talked to him in his office, he seemed- I don’t know, remorseful? Like the only thing preventing him from openly sharing it is some idea of professionalism. If he did kill someone, I’d bet that it wasn’t in cold blood. I think he was afraid to talk about what he believed to know, lest he accidentally burn any more bridges if he was wrong,” I answered after a moment of thought.

And when another moment passed by, Ollie let their head fall into their hands, choking out some kind of sound but I wasn’t sure if it was a laugh, a sob, or both.

I leaned over, almost touching their shoulder but pulling away, worried that I was pushing their space. What was I supposed to say? I jerked my hands back like I had touched a hot pan when they sat upright, confirming that they were crying, but almost laughing at the same time.

They sniffed, wiping their eyes with their sleeve, “How are you able to answer a question like that so profoundly, but still run headfirst into some insanity-hellscape because, because- I don’t know.” Their voice cut off with a wet sound, and they sniffed again. They didn’t bother to wipe away the fresh bout of tears that time, letting them fall freely down their cheeks.

I couldn’t speak, because I couldn’t answer them. The question before rang loudly in my head, what the hell was I supposed to say? Did an ‘I’m sorry’ even mean anything in that moment? I looked away and stared into the concrete sidewalk like it would have a script written on it because I couldn’t trust myself to say the right thing. All I knew was that I had put my best friend in danger, I made them suffer for my mistakes when I could’ve done better-  _ thought _ better.

“Just, Cosme, please don’t do that to me again.”

I nodded stiffly, my whole body feeling numb to everything except for the chill.

“ _ I think that’s them on the bench,” _ one voice said behind us. I didn’t know whether to be grateful for the outside intervention or curse it.

“ _ Were they questioned too?” _ Another asked.

I didn’t move much, just looking over my shoulder when Ollie full-bodied turned on the bench.

Tim had a proper bandage on his hand by then, and he and Martin both looked like they had been hit with an emotional truck but were otherwise unharmed physically.

_ I want to go home _ .

I gave a little half-hearted wave as Ollie began talking to them.

_ I want to go to bed. _

There was a body found in Jon’s office, bludgeoned with a pipe.

_ I don’t want to be here. _

Jon’s missing, and they don’t know much else.

_ I want to go home. _

I’d been awake for about an hour when Ollie began to stir. I was convinced that they would’ve picked a different room to sleep in, but we were both too exhausted to do anything except collapse into the bed. I closed my eyes again, willing myself to fall asleep because I wasn’t ready for a real conversation yet. I wanted to disappear under the blankets, away from the bright world.

I heard a soft breath after a few minutes and their weight shifted on the mattress, like they were sitting upright. I waited for a second, afraid that me being awake would create the shitstorm and what if they didn’t want to talk to me anymore? What if I fucked it up like I did after their father died in the hospital?

In reality, it was only a nudge to the shoulder, but it was the sudden touch that shocked my eyes open and made me sit up- 

Ollie stared at me for a second, wide-eyed, and sighed. “Sorry, you’re, no- you um, you started breathing heavier and you were frowning. I thought you were having another nightmare.”

I blinked a few times, letting their words slowly begin to form a coherent understanding and I nodded. Pushing myself up from under the blankets, I readjusted the sleep shirt into a more comfortable position, “No, it’s okay,” I squeaked in a still-sleep-addled voice.

Ollie nodded too, their hair falling from the no-longer-tiny bun atop their head. I would’ve been distracted by the train of thought that led me down wondering how their hair could grow so fast, but they held up their phone.

“So I started texting Aidan,” they said, “He’s been looking into some things around the institute and-”

I frowned, “He’s able to do that from the states?”

Ollie shook their head, “He’s not in the states, he moved in with Gomez.”

I felt a pang of guilt then, that I hadn’t been keeping up with my friends from home and decided that I would video call Lizzie and make an effort to text Mike and Aidan later in the day. I reached around for my phone, realizing that I felt suspiciously well-rested again, and saw that it was eleven-

“Elias told us to take today and Friday off to ‘get our affairs in order’, don’t worry,” they said, probably seeing the panic forming on my face before I recognized it.

I nodded and rubbed my eyes, “Alright, so what’s been Aidan doing?” I shook my head, “Er, did that come out right?”

“Close enough. Aidan’s been looking into the visitor logs of the institute, I think at first to see if any of the donors had been up to some shady shit recently, and he found a recurring name,” Ollie explained, “They’re not a donor, but he found records that this person is a cop who’s been visiting Jon almost weekly.”

I nodded slowly, “Okay, so is that the workplace relationship that Tim was joking about?”

“I think? But here’s where it goes a little more than that: the cops confiscated the tapes surrounding Gertrude Robinson’s body when she was found. We delivered something to Jon the other day-”

“And it felt like a tape was inside,” I completed, remembering the way the hard plastic moved in the envelope, “Do you think he was trying to solve her murder?”

They hummed, “I think so. The Institute’s got a lot of old things about it, like, things that could be digitized but intentionally aren’t, so it might be hard to find out about what happened last night, but we could look around in the building while Aidan does the tech shit.”

I bit my lower lip, remembering what happened. The corridors, the things I ‘heard’, and then Jon… Everything came back to me in flashes of bright color and loud music, in a cloud of dirt and dust from the tunnel floors, and in whirring blue lights. My hand migrated to my ear, gently touching the pinna and feeling for any surprise blood that could’ve leaked out during the night. My fingers came back bare.

“Do you think he murdered someone?” I asked.

They shrugged, “I don’t know. I’m leaning towards ‘no’, but I don’t think it’s safe to start theorizing yet. We still don’t know enough.”

“Right, otherwise we start twisting the facts to suit our theories instead of our theories to suit the facts,” I said. I groaned, feeling the exhaustion starting to seep in already even though I’d just been asleep. My head wasn’t hurting, so that was great, but I didn’t care to think about what the rest of the week had in store. I folded my hands in my lap, “So what do we do now?”

Ollie pulled a different app up on their phone, “Adulting shit, I found a couple of flat listings we could look at. I have a feeling the institute isn’t going to pay for this share-house for just the two of us.”

“Hey so, about your dad?” 

Ollie looked up from their plate, almost wide-eyed like they hadn’t expected me to ask about it. “Yeah?” They said slowly, swallowing their mouthful of roasted veggies and rice. It wasn’t a big meal, but it was easy and would leave leftovers so we could eat it the next day. We ended up spending all of the day before looking for flats, eventually settling on one, and all of the present day packing our things. We didn’t have a lot, but a month made for some extra clutter that we had to work through. 

Mike answered my texts, but pretty vaguely and changed the subject to the pots and pans he left, specifically saying that we could have them for the new place. He seemed short about us not coming back, but it didn’t seem directed towards us exactly. When I asked if everything was alright back in the states, he said it was ‘tough but survivable’ and then didn’t answer back.

Saturday would be our move-in day, and what made it especially nice was that it was in the same building as Gomez and Aidan. We were in the flat below them; a small unit with one bedroom and one bathroom that hadn’t been renovated in quite some time. But, we were close to friends, close-ish to a ‘tube’ station, and everything still functioned to a degree that was acceptable. There were other things that needed to be handled, but we considered it a victory as we cooked what would be our last dinner in the share-house.

But there were other things to be handled, like the fact that I saw Mr. Evans’ skull encased in a gigantic resin D20 and levitate on his own and seem to speak to Ollie.

They crossed their arms on the table and looked up, “Remember when I said that Dad had very specific requests about his body after he died?”

I nodded, finishing the last of my rice bowl.

“So, I actually don’t know what happened? Like, he told me to request his skull and, and some of his skin, and to give it to someone deep in the mountains. I don’t think they ever gave me their real name, but I was instructed to call them ‘Bones’. They wouldn’t let me see the ‘process’, but when they were done, Dad was talking to me from the skull.” Ollie stared at the tabletop, their leg beginning to shake.

“If, if it’s too hard to talk about,” I started, but Ollie shook their head.

“No, no, I uh, I need to talk to someone about this because the fact that you saw him moving too at least tells me I didn’t fucking lose it on that mountain,” their expression, though paled, was relieved that I was listening to them. The laugh accompanying their words was anxious, an attempt to blow off the genuine feeling of ‘What the fuck?’ that I assumed came with such a scenario.

I nodded, “Okay, so, he started talking to you from the skull?”

They sighed, “Yeah, except no one else could hear him. Bones gave me his skull and that bit of skin back but told me that I wasn’t allowed to read from the page. Silently or out loud, and I even heard Dad telling me the same thing. He said he didn’t want to go yet, that he needed to stay just a little longer until ‘the time came’. I asked him what he was talking about, when we got back home to the containers. He wouldn’t tell me anything, just that something terrible was going to happen, and that he needed to stick around for my sake until he felt that ‘he’d served his purpose’.”

Ollie paused to take a breath and run a hand through their hair, “I don’t know how or why he’s able to, to live like this, but he’s been like this since I after I kind of went off on Fellows, back when I still worked at Winchester.”

My eyes widened, because no shit, Ollie had just agreed to something pretty unsettling and distressing to keep their father alive in a sense, when they were struggling with grieving from his loss. A tense second passed before my body caught up with what I was hearing and a tear formed in the corner of my eye.

They sniffed and took another breath, this time shaky and wet, “Remember the morning you found me crying in the bathroom? I wasn’t crying because I had a nightmare about that tape, the one about the worms. I saw a chipmunk on the other side of the windowsill and took a picture, pulling up Dad’s contact to text it to him. I was half-asleep, so I didn’t realize until a few seconds later when it just hit me that he isn’t really here to see it. He has to live through this fucked up, half-life thing, and I know I should be grateful that I even get to keep him for longer, but it’s not fair. He’s still here but he can’t see the things he loves, he can’t make stupid jokes about Dungeons and Dragons or annoy me about how he eats his vegetables or pester me when I forget the name of a species of bird and it’s just not fair.” They let their head fall into their hands, fully crying now, “Why did he have to die and leave me like this?”

The sound they coughed out sucker punched the air from my lungs, because I understood exactly what they were saying. It wasn’t fair to have to navigate life and learn how to become a person when those meant to teach you are ripped away. I stood from my chair, walking around the table and approaching Ollie. They looked up at me for a few seconds before wrapping their arms around me, burying their face into the soft fabric of my shirt and shaking with sobs. I knew what it felt like, to feel so alone even with people in the room. I knew what it felt like to be so abandoned by the world, left to scramble for whatever sense of life I could find in the rubble of what once was. The idea that Ollie had to feel that too? It hurt and I wanted to wrap them up in a blanket and tell them that the world could still be kind and loving and soft, but I had such a hard time believing it myself.

Joining the orphan club fucking sucked.

Somewhere between then and sitting on the couch, we ended up in the living room. Ollie’s sobbing had reduced to sniffles and leaky tears, but otherwise they were breathing and still present. They held onto my hand like it was the entire world, and I wanted to give them better than that, but it was all I could offer in the moment.

They wiped away a tear, “Can, can we just sit here for a bit? I know we’ve got stuff to do, but I need to sit for a while.”

I nodded, “Yeah, we can even play some soft music,” I suggested. They nodded and pointed to their backpack where their speaker was still tied to a belt. Their pack made no sense to me because it had more pockets than I could remember, but it was very functional.

Ollie was hesitant to let go of my hand, but they were happy with the soft blanket over the back of the couch as I grabbed the speaker.

The grey living room was filled with an instrumental song playing from my calm playlist, barely illuminated by the kitchen light and the weeping sky outside. Our bodies were covered by a dim light that under different circumstances, would’ve felt almost magical with the music playing, like I could feel the raindrops on my skin already. I thought to myself then, as Ollie and I sat on that couch and tried to remember what it was like to feel human, that I was going to take them to the park on a rainy day and we were going to play in the raindrops. Soft pattering sounds hovered below the music, droplets creating shadowed patterns on the floor and we sat there, breathing together as we weathered the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god this wasn't meant to turn into a love letter to my favorite bands but here we are
> 
> rock power ballads are the secret to surviving the spiral


	11. oh my love remind me, what was it that i said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao I keep forgetting that I wanted to put the songs i'm stealing chapter titles from in the opening notes; this one is from ship to wreck by florence and the machine  
> I've been meaning to update but my usual beta reader isn't able to beta for me any more and ya boy is self-conscious of his writing so please have mercy on me  
> please leave a comment or leave me some kudos, i love knowing if people enjoyed reading it

Saturday morning was a little clearer than the previous night, but some of the cloud cover stubbornly remained in the sky like it had to remind us that it could rain at any moment. Remind us that it was still there, and still active. But for the most part, it didn’t rain. There would be a droplet or two here or there but otherwise, it was a pretty fair day. Just cool enough to need a thicker button down over top the only graphic tee I hadn’t shoved into my suitcase during the packing spree when I remembered that I did have another drawer full of clothing left to pack.

Ollie was slow-moving but seemed to be feeling better as they placed the key under the doormat as instructed by the owner of the share-house. They carried a small, reusable cooler with them, filled with what was left in the fridge. Mostly it was just a bit of milk and some of the leftovers from the last two dinners we cooked, having been careful to not buy anything from a grocery store until after we’d moved into the new place.

We hadn’t acquired much in the month we’d been living there, but it was too much to take on a train and the new place wasn’t quite far enough away to justify using a rental service when everything was so expensive.

“Thank you for coming, we do really appreciate it,” I told Tim as I packed our suitcases into the back of his car.

He shrugged, “It’s not problem at all, when you said you two were moving, I had a feeling you’d need some assistance. I don’t drive much,” I had no problem believing that. It was the case of living in a large city that even if you had a car, using it for the majority of your travel was more of a hassle than a help. He offered to help because we had _just_ enough things to make it hard to travel on public transit, so using a car would’ve made it less of a pain in the ass.

He was right, because the Institute was a little abrupt with informing us that the share-house would need to be empty by that afternoon and not Sunday evening like we’d been hoping for. It wasn’t a problem since we didn’t have a lot, but it was a little jarring to no longer have the safety net of an extra day.

Martin brought over the other suitcase and the duffel bag containing Ollie’s father, “Can you take this?” He asked, gesturing to the canvas bag and I reached for it. There was a slight discomfort to his features, and that was fair because sometimes holding a semi-alive skull was just a little too much for one day.

Tim pursed his lips, “Is that-”

“Yep.”

“Are we ever going to,” he paused, “talk about it?”

I looked over to Ollie, who was then on a phone call with the owner of the share-house, informing them that we were all cleared out. I turned back to face Martin and Tim and nodded, “At some point, yes, but… it’s a bit of a delicate subject.”

They both nodded, opting to let it drop for the moment as I made sure the canvas bag was secure before slinging it onto my back. Sorry Mr. Evans, but I needed both hands to pack our things into the trunk.

“You know, your new flat isn’t very far from where I live. If you’d like, you can send me a message and we can meet up to talk. Moving across the planet very suddenly sounds pretty hard, even without the situation in the archives” Martin offered as Ollie approached us.

“That’s very nice, thank you,” I smiled.

Ollie sighed dramatically, “God, being an adult is hard.”

“Right? This shit’s a scam, I want a refund,” I said, only somewhat joking.

“Thirty gets easier,” Tim said, motioning for us to get into the car, “Is that everything?”

“Does it? I think I understand why Hobbits weren’t considered adults until they were thirty,” I mumbled.

Ollie nodded, “We’re off!”

Martin made a small cheering noise, and for the first time in a week, I felt a little better about what to expect in the future.

The flat was as expected- small but comfortable. It was technically the basement, but was raised enough that we had long, narrow windows towards the upper part of the walls. It wasn’t as open or bright as the share-house, but it had a cozy feel to it. I liked feeling secured on all sides, and this place felt like it could provide that feeling.

Gomez was ready to give us the tour, and even though it had been at most two and a half weeks or so, it felt like it had been months since I last saw him. His mustache had grown a bit, closer to the Freddie Mercury than the Gomez Addams. Dressed in more comfortable clothing that might have been pajamas, he navigated us throughout the building. His and Aidan’s unit was right above ours, and the landlord lived in the unit above them. So it was small, and occasionally the landlord (or rather, landlady as Gomez emphatically informed us) would invite her book club friends and make an ungodly amount of food that would inevitably find its way into their fridge. Mrs. Winston was adamant that no food go to waste in her building, so if we weren’t sure if we could finish something, we should reach out to her and she would find a way to use it, even if it went to her little vegetable patch as compost.

The small couch barely fit three of us, so Tim and I sat on pillows on the floor while Ollie and Martin were on the couch, surrounding the tiny coffee table. Martin insisted on making us tea as a sort of house-warming gesture, so then I insisted that I would help because it felt weird for someone to make tea for me after they’d just helped me move.

I wanted to go upstairs and see Aidan, the worry gnawing on me, but I sat down. Texting him later would be the better plan, to feel out how he was doing before barging in and demanding him to make time for me.

“How have you guys been doing?” Ollie asked, taking a sip of tea and holding the mug in their lap.

“About as well as we can, um, there are a lot of police in the institute right now, though.” Martin said quietly, looking into it mug like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Gross,” I said, “Um, have either of you heard from Jon?”

Tim shook his head, “No sign of him.”

Martin fidgeted in his seat, “He, he hasn’t shown up for work… and it sounds like he wasn’t found at home either.”

“I don’t know which is better, him being missing or the cops having him,” Ollie snarked, but their tone suggested that they were fairly serious. And I agreed. Law enforcement doesn’t exactly have a great record in treating anyone with dignity, but not knowing where he was, was also worrying.

From the corner of my eye as I stared at the table, I saw that Martin seemed rather intrigued by something on the ceiling. My glance flickered his way for a second, and it occurred to me that he might’ve known more than he was sharing.

“Sorry we had to skip out Thursday and Friday, I hope there isn’t a lot of stuff piling up,” I said, thinking to change the subject.

Tim shrugged, “It’s tolerable, I guess. Melanie’s been coming by the institute more, which is kind of weird, but it is what it is.”

Ollie made a sort of grimace, “I hope artifact storage isn’t a disaster right now. I feel bad that Sasha has to deal with the cleanup from the other night.”

It was fairly obvious, the sudden change in energy, when Ollie mentioned Sasha. Specifically, poor Tim was an open book and looked away so it wouldn’t be so obvious and Martin looked like he was wanting to be anywhere but on that couch for the moment. I took one for the team and asked, “What happened?”

“S̸a̸s̸h̸a̸'̴s̵ ̶g̷o̶n̸e̸,” Tim said, voice so soft I could barely hear him, but I heard enough.

“What do you mean? She quit?” I asked.

Martin shook his head, “Disappeared since that day, but…”

Tim did look towards us then, “It wasn’t her.” It was stated as fact, like he was answering a question about the weather. His foot was shaking where he sat, though I couldn’t tell if it was a hyperactive thing or an anxiety thing.

Ollie cleared their throat, “But what?” They looked at Martin, who, when addressed made a sort of distressed sound.

“I’m surprised you didn’t see it if you two followed us into the tunnels,” Martin said, “We saw Sa-, um, something, and it was calling to Jon.”

I nodded, “We heard it, I’d forgotten my phone in my desk that day and when we came back, we heard it. Ah, well, Ollie probably heard it. I couldn’t hear much of it.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that you were there?” Martin asked, scowling.

“Because you would’ve told us to leave,” I said plainly, and though Martin was about to deny it, he closed his mouth because he knew I was right.

Tim turned his head, wearing a contemplative face, “Cosme, you said you couldn’t hear it?”

I shook my head, “I mean, I could kind of hear tones? But I couldn’t understand it. It got worse when we went through the door, that’s why we were blasting music.” I found myself floundering to describe the experience, and infuriatingly enough the closest I could come to explaining it was ‘You would’ve had to hear it for yourself’.

He nodded, “I had a hard time hearing it, myself. Can I ask -this might be an invasive question- what exactly is your hearing impairment? Because I’m hard of hearing and it was much harder to hear in there than it usually is.”

I twisted my mouth a little, “I’m actually not sure. Ollie helped me narrow it down to a sensory processing disorder, but I only just got diagnosed with ADHD recently so I might not know for a while. Do you know what caused yours? Because that might narrow down why we heard it the way we did.”

“Conductive hearing loss, the bones in my middle ear on this side,” he pointed to his left ear, “Didn’t form correctly. I usually have a hearing aid but it got destroyed when the Institute was swarmed.”

Martin hummed, “What do you think causes the issues?”

“I’m not sure, I’m mostly going off of what I learned in college when I still studied psychology but what I learned then and what’s available now might be different. I didn’t exactly think the hearing thing through before going in,” I said.

Ollie looked at the ceiling with an avoidant expression, while both Martin and Tim gaped at my statement. And I didn’t understand until Tim looked to Ollie with a raised brow, “That’s odd, because we were told that you two _fell_ in like we did.”

“Ah,” was all I said, before Ollie slapped a hand to their face.

“Yeah, because I lied,” they eyed me, “Eloquent-”

“ _Shut up,”_

“God, alright, yeah, we may or may not have asked Michael to let us in,” Ollie explained.

Tim frowned and rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the coffee table, “I can’t believe you ran into that madness headfirst.”

“Does that mean he’ll keep coming to you?” Martin asked.

I shrugged, “Christ, I hope not.” The uncertainty made it a little uncomfortable, and by little I meant a lot. But there were a lot of things happening, and somehow Michael didn’t really seem to be at the top of my priority list.

Ollie sat upright, “That does remind me though, I should probably clear up the, the _skull thing_ ,” they said. Since I’d already heard their explanation, albeit with some emotional distress, I looked down to my phone and sent a text to Aidan. A simple, ‘What’s up?’ and waited. I brought my attention back to Ollie as they explained the deal with their father, ending with the fact that he wasn’t technically alive, but he wasn’t dead either.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said solemnly.

They shook their head, “It’s okay, I guess? Looking back on it, I’m glad I came here because it’s at least told me that I’m not crazy.”

“Does he move and talk a lot?” Martin asked.

“No. I think he might only have so much energy he can use, because he’s been almost unresponsive since the corridors,” they said, standing to grab the canvas bag. With little ceremony, they pulled Mr. Evans from the bag and gently sat him down on the coffee table. Much unlike his state in the corridors, he was static and clear. No wobbly edges, weird humming noises, or anything. He was just a skull encased in a die.

“You can see through his eye, where the page is holed in,” they pointed out. I leaned in to look closely, similar to Tim and Martin, and sure enough there was a wrinkled page rolled up tightly in a small, hollow cavity where the occipital lobes would be resting if there was still a brain present. In that small space at the back of the skull, towards the base, was something else but I couldn’t see very well through the glittery material.

“I gotta say, Ollie, it _is_ rather on brand for your dad to request something like this- supernatural things aside.”

They snorted, assuaging my worries that my comment was inappropriate, “Well, I come by it honestly. If I can’t do something all the way, might as well go all out, right?”

“How did you get him through customs?” I asked.

Ollie stuttered for a second, “Well, that’s the thing, I uh, I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I left him home and a few nights ago he simply showed up.”

Martin narrowed his eyes as he stared into the skull, like he was trying to think of something. Finally, Tim poked and prodded at him until he spilled.

“It’s just, well… Tim, don’t you remember doing follow-up on a statement that dealt with pages made from human skin?”

Tim’s eyes widened with familiarity, “You’re right, but it wasn’t a Leitner. It was someone else’s book, I believe. We couldn’t find it, though.”

Ollie raised a hand, “Hey, I don’t think we got a full rundown of the whole Leitners thing,” they mentioned.

Tim did his best to sum it up for us, but it was as I’d expected. They didn’t know a whole lot either, other than the books came from the library of Jurgen Leitner and were almost always odd. A lot of them were weird in specific ways, like the one that Mike recognized, and others were mostly harmless. But the man, Leitner, was related to them all and the current theory was that he either wrote them or commissioned or collected them and released them into the world.

But the book mentioned to Ollie wasn’t a Leitner. They didn’t see any book, but there was one known book that used human skin so it made me wonder if it was related.

“Jon thought it was in America, at one point though. Maybe that’s why we couldn’t find it and how your father got like this,” Martin suggested.

Tim bristled at the mention of Jon, but it wasn’t addressed because Martin got a phone call then.

“Ah- oh, it’s my mum. I’m going to step outside for a moment,” he said. He set his mug of tea down onto the coffee table and hurried outside, the faintest hint of a grimace on his face while he closed the door behind him as quietly as he could.

I nodded, faintly thinking about the time Martin bandaged my hand and he said that his mother was ill.

Ollie looked to Tim, asking him point blank, “Do you think Jon did it?”

Unsurprised by their question, he sighed, “I don’t know. If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I would’ve said yes. I’d have thought he’d finally gone off the deep end.”

“And what are you thinking now?” I prompted.

He was looking anywhere but at us, which was fair. I relaxed my posture, worried that I was making him feel like he was being interrogated. If he wanted to share, then he would. If not, then, he wouldn’t. I downed the rest of my tea, barely lukewarm at that point, but needing the dose of caffeine to supplement my waning medication doses.

“There’s something he isn’t telling us and I wish he’d just get it out already. We had started to work past his behavior, and some of mine, after the Prentiss incident but now he’s just gone.”

I thought out my words carefully before I spoke them, “It sounds like you’re grieving for him.”

“I wouldn’t say _grieving_ , but… I,” he paused, humming quietly, “I’m frustrated because we had started talking finally and then all of the other night happened.” He waved his hands to emphasize the ‘all’ of that night’s events. He looked up at me, eyes squinted in suspicion, “How does this keep happening? Me, spilling my guts to either of you?”

Ollie spoke over me before I could brush it off, “Because Cosme has a background in psych and has taken classes about shit like, how to be a good listener and how to communicate effectively.”

“Didn’t learn much of the last one, I’m afraid,” I added, “But to be fair we _can_ stop. Like, I’m not your therapist nor can I be even if I were qualified for it. Personally, I think I have that kind of face that says ‘Ah, yes, I can unload my shit to this jackass and they won’t remember a bit of it’.”

Ollie tossed a throw pillow into my face but I caught it and hugged it to my chest, “Don’t insult my friend like that,” they countered.

“Also, that sounds a little mean to yourself,” Tim pointed out, and he was right. I was fairly bad at setting boundaries when it came to making myself available for people. I just enjoyed helping people; there was fulfillment in it.

Our front door opened then, and Martin appeared with a slightly flushed face. The space between his eyebrows looked creased, not like he was presently frowning, but like he had been for a period of time. He cleared his throat, “S-Sorry about that, everyone. I need to go home, but it was nice to chat and help you move in.”

I nodded, “Of course, we appreciate it.”

Tim looked up, “Need a ride, Marto?”

Martin gave a bit of a half-smile, “It’s okay, really, my place isn’t that far from here.”

“I don’t mind,” Tim insisted.

For a second, it looked like he was about to argue, but the exhaustion in his form ended up winning. “A-As long as it’s no problem,” Martin relented.

Tim stood to put his mug in the sink and start the car, wishing us a farewell until we see each other again at work. Martin, however, lingered, like he didn’t want to go home yet. He was slower, offering to even wash the mugs since he made the tea.

“It’s okay, really,” I said, smiling. If this man was as anxious as I was on a regular basis, then I hoped the smile would convey that I was being genuine.

He eventually gave up, and a few minutes after Tim had left the flat, Martin was following in his footsteps while waving goodbye.

Finally, we were in the apartment, alone.

Ollie flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh, or groan, I couldn’t tell over the running water while I washed our mugs. I wanted to go upstairs and talk to Aidan, but he hadn’t answered my last message yet and I still didn’t think that going up without adequate warning was a good idea. I didn’t think to ask Gomez for his messenger handle either, or I would’ve at least asked him if Aidan was okay.

“I̵̯͊ ̶̡d̴͉͝ỏ̷͍n̸͓͊'̵͔̀ṯ̶́ ̷̥̐w̸͇̓a̸̛̜n̸̠̽ṇ̸̇ȁ̶̢,” I heard from the couch, something akin to a whine but I could hardly understand Ollie as I rinsed the last mug. I set it aside on the drying rack and turned off the water.

“What was that?” I asked, toweling off my hands and walking towards the couch, where Ollie was face down into a cushion.

They lifted their head up, “I said I don’t wanna,”

“Don’t wanna what?”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Fair enough.”

Whether they were talking about unpacking our belongings or just being, I wasn’t sure, but either way I felt similarly, even though I needed to settle my affairs back in the states. Ollie lived alone, so they had their own separate worries from mine. I had a roommate, and I didn’t want to make it her sole responsibility to pay for the place and also deal with my shit. Even if the most I cared about were the books, I still needed to figure out something to do with them.

“I’m gonna call Lizzie, okay?” I called to Ollie from the small bedroom. After being certain that what I heard was an affirmative noise, I pulled out my laptop and set it up on the double bed. Again, there was only one bed; slightly smaller and not as soft as the last one, but a functional bed, nonetheless. The bed wasn’t the highest priority at the moment anyway.

The waiting was torturous, even though realistically I was waiting for the video call to start for maybe a minute. In that minute, I’d managed to nearly close out of the window three times, thinking that Lizzie wouldn’t want to chat at that moment because I’d waited too long to call her again and what if she thought I was abandoning her-

“ _Oh my goodness, hi!”_

I smiled wide, “Hey Liz, what’re you up to?”

Lizzie had her hair down, a little puffy like it might have been teased. Or was it bed head? I didn’t think to check the time difference before calling her. She was wearing the slightest bit of makeup, a sort of pink highlighter on her cheekbones and a little more blush than I’d seen her use before. Beneath the collar of her loose button down, were a few dark marks on her skin-

“ _Ah, well, I was technically in the middle of a date?”_

It hit me, “Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to message first. Is Insta-lady visiting?”

Lizzie shook her head, “Nah, Laura’s her name, by the way. She’s polyamorous, so uh, I’m exploring it with her.” The bashful look on her face was apparent.

“Sorry, sorry! You can call me back later? I didn’t think you’d answer anyway,” I laughed, only somewhat uncomfortable. More embarrassed, because I’d essentially walked in on a roommate having some fun times.

“ _Honestly, I was so excited that I forgot. Let’s plan a video-date and then I can come back?”_

We settled on Wednesday, a relatively empty day aside from work for the both of us. It would be effort to find exactly the right time, so it meant one of us would have to answer on a lunch break, but it was worth it. With a hasty wave and a grin, Lizzie ended the call.

I sighed, quietly berating myself for not thinking to check in. But, we had an established time to chat later, so it wasn’t for nothing.

The urge to curl up and nap was strong, but not as strong as my curiosity as my phone buzzed.

It was Aidan.

 **Vang0Bang02:** hey

 **CosmoCosma:** hey!

 **CosmoCosma:** how have you been feelin?

 **Vang0Bang02:** uh

 **Vang0Bang02:** a lil raw emotionally but okay

 **Vang0Bang02:** what about you guys? i heard you all talking downstairs

 **CosmoCosma:** doing about as okay as we can be

 **Vang0Bang02:** valid. gomez has been worried sick but he was excited you guys were moving in

 **CosmoCosma:** any particular reason why?

 **Vang0Bang02:** oh you know

 **Vang0Bang02:** my first response to major trauma or emotional distress is to self-isolate

 **CosmoCosma:** ahh and it’s probably good to be around a support system

 **Vang0Bang02:** ye

 **Vang0Bang02:** it’s for the best that Gomez isn’t the only person i talk to now

 **CosmoCosma:** yeah, it’s important for the both of you to have support but also boundaries

 **Vang0Bang02:** right yea

 **Vang0Bang02:** which reminds me,,,

 **Vang0Bang02:** i don’t think i have the capacity for a physical visit just yet, but I wanna keep chatting like this… maybe i’ll be feeling better monday and will be up for one then

 **CosmoCosma:** take your time bro

 **Vang0Bang02:** in the meantime

 **Vang0Bang02:** what’s all this I’m hearing about the institute?

 **Vang0Bang02:** sounds like someone was murdered and jon is missing?

 **CosmoCosma:** there’s a lot more than that, but that’s the gist yeah

 **Vang0Bang02:** alright bro lay it on me

I tried to sum up the events as best I could, but I knew for a fact that somewhere in there I was probably missing important details or had switched around events. But soon enough, Aidan had the happenings of that night in relative order and found himself in a state of both disbelief and unsurprised. It was good to talk to Aidan again, even if it wasn’t face-to-face like I had hoped. It felt good to talk to someone about that night, someone who wasn’t there and was willing to believe me regardless.

**CosmoCosma:** so that’s about all there is to it

 **Vang0Bang02:** Christ yea that’s a hell of a night

 **Vang0Bang02:** martin and tim are alright?

 **CosmoCosma:** shaken up but doing alright for the most part I think

 **Vang0Bang02:** there was another assistant but I didn’t meet her

 **Vang0Bang02:** sasha? I think?

 **CosmoCosma:** oh

 **CosmoCosma:** we actually don’t know about her either

 **CosmoCosma:** she’s disappeared

 **Vang0Bang02:** good god

 **CosmoCosma:** yeah it’s kind of a nightmare right now

 **CosmoCosma:** martin and tim are worried about jon I think… esp martin but tim too

 **CosmoCosma:** and also I’m worried about him

 **Vang0Bang02:** question tho I think I know the answer already

 **Vang0Bang02:** why do you think he didn’t do it?

 **CosmoCosma:** I don’t think he’d murder someone out of cold blood

 **CosmoCosma:** I don’t know who did it but something bad happened and I think jon is caught in the middle of it

 **Vang0Bang02:** I’ll accept that answer

 **Vang0Bang02:** I have an idea

 **CosmoCosma:** yea?

 **Vang0Bang02:** do you have jon’s number

 **CosmoCosma:** … yes?

 **Vang0Bang02:** cool

 **Vang0Bang02:** so as a heads up so you can tell jon in case he gets hella freaked out by it

 **Vang0Bang02:** *TECHNICALLY* what I’m doing is illegal and not easy to do

 **CosmoCosma:** uh huh

 **Vang0Bang02:** but hypothetically, if you were to get a hold of him, it would be through this app

 **Vang0Bang02:** if he’s a legit suspect it’s gonna be hard to keep it on the DL

 **Vang0Bang02:** but I know people

 **Vang0Bang02:** hypothetically you COULD be texting him by the end of the night to make sure he’s alive and shit

 **CosmoCosma:** you’re pretty behind jon’s innocence

 **CosmoCosma:** hmm, that’s not how I wanted to word that

 **Vang0Bang02:** I trust elias about as far as my twink ass can throw him

 **Vang0Bang02:** I think he’s up to something even if jon did kill someone

 **CosmoCosma:** so I could be texting him to get his side of the story

 **CosmoCosma:** hypothetically, of course

 **Vang0Bang02:** yeah yeah

 **CosmoCosma:** I mean if you wanna

 **CosmoCosma:** you’re an adult and you can make your own decisions. If part of that decision is to not do this because you need to relax, that’s okay

 **Vang0Bang02:** cosme I do appreciate it but I don’t know if that really is an option at this point

 **Vang0Bang02:** you should be connected with him later tonight if it all goes to plan

 **CosmoCosma:** if you’re sure…

 **Vang0Bang02:** ofc

 **Vang0Bang02:** oh and cosme?

 **CosmoCosma:** ye?

 **Vang0Bang02:** thanks for checking in on me

 **Vang0Bang02:** <3

 **CosmoCosma:** <3 <3

I let my phone fall to the bed and walked out into the living room, greeted by Ollie who was fast asleep on the couch, snoring softly. I grinned and began to unpack a few things. Kitchen things made sense, and our perishables had already made their way into the fridge. Mostly, I put away the utensils and the pots and pans that Mike was letting us borrow. I made a note to myself that I should text him again.

The last of the kitchen things was a set of dishes that Ollie picked out from a small shop before we moved officially. It was an affordable set, the floral design slightly off kilter as though the printer was off, but they still looked nice. They seemed durable too, so I was happy enough with them. I was especially glad that Ollie had thought to get them, because I’d forgotten to.

For once, as I was unpacking things in the tiny, poorly lit kitchen, I had time to think. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the _time_ to do it usually, but rather, all of my faculties were preoccupied to a degree that made it nigh impossible to really decompress. It was no wonder to me then that everyone in the archives was so high-strung. I’d been working there for a fraction of the time they had and already I was suffering from the stress.

I couldn’t see Ollie from the kitchen, the back of the couch obscuring my view. The tape might have been long gone, misplaced, or whatever had happened to it, but I still remembered the way they all regarded each other. I remembered the way Jon used his skepticism and distant nature to hide just how fearful he really was, the way Tim tried to theorize Prentiss’s next moves even though he was high on the fumes from the fire extinguishers, how Martin was afraid that he would disappear and not a soul would notice, or how Sasha ran into danger when Tim didn’t know they were under attack-

I almost dropped the large bowl I had been rinsing the dust off of, my hands beginning to shake at the realization that I’d _heard a different voice on that tape_. It wasn’t from the Sasha I’d met, but the Sasha Jon had addressed in the salvaged tape. How had I not noticed it before? I couldn’t hold in my panic when past-Sasha mentioned that she hoped Elias had been able to set off the fire system, pausing the audio before running into the bathroom. Did my reaction cause a hard-reset on my memory? Did I get so caught up with literally _everything_ that I completely forgot about that?

Were Ollie and I the only ones to have listened to that tape?

“Hmm? Cosme?” I heard a sleepy voice from the other side of the couch call out.

I set the bowl on the drying rack and dried off my hands, walking around to the living space so I could properly hear them, “What’s up?”

“Everything alright? Heard something loud…” They sat up and wiped their eyes, “Shit, I didn’t realize I was so tired,” they said.

“Yeah, just, a bowl slipped in my hand. Nothing broke though.”

Ollie sat up, their patterned shirt rumpled from sleeping in it, and their hair had slipped out of the loose bun it was tied into. They’d looked so peaceful when they were sleeping, the thought of telling them of my revelation was saddled with so much guilt.

“What time is it?” They asked.

I pulled my phone out, momentarily ignoring the messenger notification I got to check the time. “A little past one.”

“Mmm, I’m hungry,” they said, stretching their arms up above their head. “Wanna heat up some leftovers for lunch?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “That sounds good.”

They stood and got working on that while I opened up my phone again to see the notification from Aidan stating that Jon should be able to receive messages from me through the secured app. I took a deep breath, deciding to wait until a little later before initiating contact.

“You’re thinking really hard on something,” Ollie pointed out as they handed me a bowl of our oldest leftovers, a pasta dish we made together, still good but in need of being consumed soon.

“Um, well, it’s about the tape.” I said.

They slowly nodded, taking a bite of their food, “Mmkay, so I imagine this is gonna get into heavy territory.”

“Is it okay if we talk about it?”

They made a kind of uncertain face, “Is it new and important information?”

“I think so,” I said.

They nodded, “Yeah, then we should probably all stay as up-to-date as we possibly can. Lay it on me, dude.”

“How often do you and Sasha, erm, _did_ you and Sasha talk?” I started with this question to get a gauge of where I needed to begin, because I hadn’t told them what Jon was suspecting.

“Hmm, well, I guess a moderate amount. It was almost always work-related though, she seemed pretty cagey about personal details,” they answered.

“Right, but if you had to say for certain, you’re familiar with her voice, correct?”

They frowned, “I mean, yeah, I guess? Why?”

I took a deep breath and shared what I knew. I told them everything; how Sasha seemed to avoid me, how I could barely understand her voice sometimes because it just wouldn’t process unless she was speaking very slowly and clearly and intentionally- and sometimes not even then. I looked up to check in, seeing that I did still have Ollie’s attention, and then went on to explain Jon’s suspicions, and then the salvaged tape I’d listened to.

They shook their head, and pretty clearly I knew I’d lost them at that point, “Wait, wait, so the tape that Jon had you listen to, Sasha was on it?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“But, the Sasha Jon was speaking to, didn’t or doesn’t sound like the Sasha we met at the beginning of the month?”

“Correct.”

“And there’s no chance that maybe she was sick, or that there were two Sasha’s working there at one point?”

“Doubtful. But this is what’s especially supportive of that- when we listened to the tape, do you remember the Sasha who was speaking then?”

Ollie leaned against the back of the couch, pensive, and then suddenly very seriously questioning. They opened and closed their mouth a few times, before settling on, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. The fact that Ollie also knew something was off was reassuring; and I suspected that it was how Jon felt too when he shared that tape with me. The constant questioning of your own perceptions and the motives of others was something that most people with mental illness struggled with, but when the addition of a legitimate threat was thrown in, I could understand why he was so closed off for so long. I wondered if Michael had anything to do with it, or maybe Elias. There was no doubt that Elias was hiding something, but I wasn’t sure if it was as nefarious as I suspected.

Ollie sat their bowl, empty, on the coffee table, “Well, that presents us with a couple of uncomfortable things. Did you share this with Tim or Martin?”

I shook my head, “I, I don’t know how to. I feel like Jon should be the one to tell them, but I understand why he would hesitate too. It feels wrong to hold this information from them, even if they don’t want to hear it.”

They narrowed their eyes, “This, some of this sounds familiar.”

“How do you mean?”

“Do you remember the table thing we saw in artifact storage? The broken one? It wasn’t my assignment, but I started looking at the statements where the table was mentioned. There was one in particular about a woman who lived across the street from a man who just changed,” I nodded, remembering the case they were recalling.

“Yes! Yes, I remember- and when she tried to find picture of him they had all changed. That means the table is related somehow. What hap-” I stopped, fearing the question I was about to ask. I feared it because I didn’t want to face the possibility that the answer I would hear was what I believed; I feared it because I didn’t want to be right, I didn’t want Jon to be right.

“And you couldn’t hear anything Michael was saying when we went through the door?” Ollie asked.

I nodded slowly, “Similar to how I couldn’t hear most of what Sasha would say to me.”

They took a deep breath, “What were you going to ask?”

I swallowed, my throat dry and pained, “What happened to the man?”

Ollie stared at the floor solemnly, shaking their head, “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

**CosmoCosma:** Hi Jon

 **User00984:** Who are you and how did you put this app on my phone?

 **CosmoCosma:** oh shit didn’t think about that

 **CosmoCosma:** it’s me, cosme

 **User00984:** How do I know you’re actually you? The last time I texted someone without confirming, he was trapped in his flat for two weeks and terrorized by worms.

 **CosmoCosma:** we can do a quick video chat

**CosmoCosma started a video call at 17:58**

**_Video call ended – 00:00:37_ **

**CosmoCosma:** see? It’s me

**User00984 changed their username to JSims**

**JSims:** That still doesn’t answer how you put a new application on my cellphone.

 **CosmoCosma:** I didn’t, Aidan did

 **CosmoCosma:** and don’t worry, it’s hella tight in terms of security. he made sure of that before connecting me to you since you are technically on the run I guess

 **CosmoCosma:** also how he did it may or may not be very illegal so don’t tell anyone

 **JSims:** Okay…

 **JSims:** What did you want?

 **CosmoCosma:** well, finding out whether or not you were still alive was the top priority

 **CosmoCosma:** though now that you mention it, I am having a hard time operating the toaster in the employee lounge

 **JSims:** Ha-ha, very funny.

 **CosmoCosma:** no but seriously are you okay

 **CosmoCosma:** everyone is worried

 **CosmoCosma:** especially martin and tim

 **JSims:** I am okay

 **JSims:** I am staying somewhere, laying low

 **CosmoCosma:** good

 **CosmoCosma:** did I hear someone in the background of the video call?

 **JSims:** A friend of mine from university. She’s graciously letting me stay in her spare room.

**JSims has updated their profile picture**

**CosmoCosma:** oh my god who is that magnificent cat

 **JSims:** That is The Admiral, he’s my friend’s cat.

 **CosmoCosma:** oh! You mean the cat on your twitter?

 **JSims:** How on EARTH did you find that?

 **CosmoCosma:** don’t worry about it

 **CosmoCosma:** it is at least 6000% more important that you tell The Admiral that I adore him

 **JSims:** He is a very esteemed gentleman. Did you know that I was the one to pick out his name?

 **CosmoCosma:** that does not surprise me at all

**CosmoCosma sent a media file**

**CosmoCosma:** that’s the Captain, his full name is longer

 **JSims:** Full name?

 **CosmoCosma:** Captain Crunk, Destroyer of Bookshelves and Kibble

 **JSims:** Do I want to know…?

 **CosmoCosma:** it’s kind of a funny story actually

 **CosmoCosma:** Lizzie and I found him hiding in a cereal box cuddling an empty beer can, so that’s how he got the name Captain Crunk; the title’s even funnier

**OllieOof has joined the chat room**

**OllieOof:** I knew it

 **CosmoCosma:** knew what?

 **OllieOof:** I knew you’d get distracted

 **JSims:** I guess that’s Ollie?

 **OllieOof:** the one and only

 **CosmoCosma:** you’re right… we did get very distracted

 **JSims:** And here I thought this was a social visit.

 **OllieOof:** so the NotThem

 **JSims:** … Yes?

 **OllieOof:** cosme caught me up with most of what you two talked about and the tape thing

 **OllieOof:** specifically what you should know is this: we didn’t connect the dots earlier, but we heard the real Sasha’s voice on the tape I found when we first got here

 **JSims:** You did?

 **OllieOof:** yes

 **OllieOof:** how did you find the tape that you and cosme listened to?

 **CosmoCosma:** it was salvaged from the tunnels right? weren’t they smashed up pretty badly?

 **JSims:** They were.

 **CosmoCosma:** oh wait

 **CosmoCosma:** we have footage of Sasha

 **CosmoCosma:** er, NotSasha I guess, going into the break room around the time the tape went missing

 **CosmoCosma:** do you think that was the NotThem/NotSasha destroying it?

 **JSims:** I considered it, but I didn’t want to. I don’t think I was ready to think of it as something more sinister than random chance.

 **JSims:** And what’s worse is that I don’t remember what she looked like. I only see NotSasha when I try to remember.

 **CosmoCosma:** but you have the salvaged tape

 **CosmoCosma:** we could try to find her using her voice on the tape

 **JSims:** It’s too late for that.

 **OllieOof:** what do you mean?

 **JSims:** I met someone that night. He said his name was Jurgen Leitner and he was able to make the tunnels make sense for me while NotSasha was chasing after me.

 **OllieOof:** Leitner? You mean the dude with a massive library of homicidal books?

 **JSims:** They’re not all like that- the one he used that night seemed to be mostly harmless unless he intended to hurt someone with it.

 **CosmoCosma:** so you met him

 **JSims:** He told me some things that I’m still not sure what to make of, but he was certain that the Sasha we knew is dead. He suspected that Elias killed Gertrude, but he wouldn’t elaborate.

 **JSims:** Looking back on it, I was a fool for wasting time.

 **OllieOof:** fuck

 **CosmoCosma:** “Suspected”?

 **JSims:** I walked out for what couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes. In hindsight it’s stupid that I had a pipe with me to begin with, but I had just been chased by the thing pretending to be Sasha and I thought that Leitner would try to kill me. But we walked back to my office and I asked him some questions about the books and Gertrude. The institute as well. It was… a lot, and so I went outside to smoke.

 **JSims:** When I went back inside he was already dead.

 **OllieOof:** Jesus Christ

 **CosmoCosma:** oh my god

 **CosmoCosma:** I’m sorry

 **JSims:** Why are you sorry?

 **CosmoCosma:** I imagine seeing the remains of someone who I’m guessing suffered from brutal pipe murder wasn’t all that pleasant

 **JSims:** It wasn’t

 **OllieOof:** did you do it?

 **JSims:** I DID NOT kill him.

 **OllieOof:** okay

 **JSims:** What? Just like that?

 **OllieOof:** yeah

 **OllieOof:** if you’re lying then that’s on you, dude

 **CosmoCosma:** and to be fair, it would be reasonable for you to be a suspect what with you following your coworkers an all

 **JSims:** I know…

 **JSims:** I wouldn’t be surprised if Tim thinks I’ve finally lost it. For a moment I was terrified that I had imagined walking outside to smoke, that I actually had murdered him and blocked it out.

 **CosmoCosma:** I mean it’s not entirely impossible, but it is very, very unlikely

 **CosmoCosma:** also I know it’s been twenty minutes already but I *did* say that tim was worried about you too

 **JSims:** He is???

 **CosmoCosma:** omg

 **OllieOof:** he and martin both are worried

 **OllieOof:** and they’re even more worried because ‘sasha’ or whatever it was also disappeared

 **CosmoCosma:** I can connect martin and tim to this chat if you’d like, but I imagine you don’t want that yet since you’re like, on the run and all

 **CosmoCosma:** if you want though I can tell them you’re okay

 **CosmoCosma:** in fact, I am asking for your permission to do that because they are both worried

 **JSims:** It’s fine, just… no extra details, okay?

 **CosmoCosma:** You’re alive and you did not commit murder.

 **JSims:** Thank you.

“Somehow that was less stressful than I had expected,” I sighed, setting my phone down and laying back. The ceiling had the weird popcorn texture to it and I found myself briefly wondering if that was the type of material that had asbestos in it.

“There were so many things I wanted to ask him,” Ollie admitted, stretching their legs out on the mattress where we sat. “Namely like, what was it that Leitner told him?”

“I thought it was settled that it was about his suspicion of Elias?” I asked.

“No, Jon said that Leitner told him other things. I want to know why he was so sure the real Sasha is dead. I want to know about the books,” Ollie waved their hands, a motion to encompass just how big those questions were.

I nodded, the realization that Sasha might be dead hitting me like a freight-train, “Oh God,” I breathed.

“We have to tell them,” Ollie said, “If Jon’s not able to talk to them right now, we have to tell them.”

I didn’t pick up the phone in my lap though, and instead wished that I could think of someone else’s face, anyone’s other than the thing pretending to be Sasha James.


End file.
